Brutal Hearts
by Adi Slater
Summary: HIATUS/Undergoing a rewrite: Vellainya was content to live out the rest of her days as commander & Queen of the Descendants of Akkad...But it seems fate has a different plan when she is captured & given to our favorite hero as a peace offering. Ardeth/OC. Enjoy!
1. Ch 1 Recon

**AN:**I'm in the process of rewriting this story. That being said, during the rewrite _**the story won't change**_ much; but how I deliver the message will. So if you don't read the rewritten version, you won't be lost. My writing style is entirely different now and without a rewrite then continuing this story would be damn near impossible for me as an author. Hopefully this works for everyone.

_**IMPORTANT**_**: If there are any plot requests-or any requests at all-for the rewrite, do not****hesitate to tell me whether it be by message or review. I want you all to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.****  
><strong>**Hope to hear from you all soon,****  
><strong>**Adi**

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The slender man and his traveling companion bowed before the leader of the vicious tribe of exiled men. The two men positioned themselves in a staggered line; one slightly in front of the other. Carefully, they declined the arch of their necks further to ensure the over-sized hoods of the robes they wore made a gracious effort of shielding their faces; no one was to look upon the Great Akhen, especially not commoners. The dimly-lit candles helped the shadows conceal their true identities.

"You didn't even clean yourselves up before entering my tent?" Akhen inquired, holding his head higher than most. This was a gesture that allowed him an excuse to further look down on those who were lesser in his coal black eyes.

The messengers bowed their heads slightly, acknowledging their mistake but refusing to speak. To speak before asked was a deed which could be easily punished by death…or some sort of cruel and unusual torture that would lead to demise. The last man who upset their master had his feet and legs lacerated by dull blades and then soaked in different kinds of acidic salts until he finally perished.

"Explain yourself." Akhen demanded. He was not in the mood to be trifled with, but whoever was?

"Chieftain," The man to the right who was further back from Akhen, mentioned in a bold voice. He was obviously testing the waters of Akhen's patience. "We thought the importance of our news was more rewarding than our wardrobes."

The man in front made a small motion with his left hand, a signal to his traveling companion. Both men then knelt in unison, showing complete and total submission. The self-proclaimed, bloodthirsty leader was pleased and smiled one of his heart stopping, yet menacing grins.

Akhen waved his hand carelessly and sighed. "Very well, very well," He mentioned. "Just get on with it already." He began circling the inside of the tent, marveling at his weaponry.  
>The second messenger on Akhen's right spoke up again. "We don't mean to upset you with our most unfortunate news, sir, but-"<p>

"But you have failed me." Akhen stood in front of his most prized weapon rack. They were his "collections," as he called it. All sorts of swords and daggers decorated the elaborately designed rack. The warlord took a long, intricately carved knife off the rack. He spun it in his hand, testing the balance. It was too heavy on the side; years of abuse from its previous owners caused chipping of the metal thus making one side bulkier. Akhen knew a great deal about weapons and they were his favorite thing, right next to women and wine.

"I'm sorry, sir." The second one spoke again, leaving the first delegate silent once more. "Neither of us could find a woman beautiful enough to distract the Cheift-" He paused, noticing his grave mistake before he could finish. Remaining silent, he glanced at Akhen through the thin material of his hood. The tyrant had shakily placed the dagger back in its rightful spot on the rack and was now glaring at him. Pure rage was pulsing through his veins and it was obvious he was trying very hard to suppress his anger. One thing Akhen hated the most was when his people forgot his rightful place.

The talkative precursor averted his attention to the back of the man in front of him, waiting for some sense of direction. Should he let his mistake hang in the air or correct his well-planned mishap? The silence was tense but when his quite accomplice motioned for him to continue, he nodded insubstantially, thus beginning his reprieve.

"We could not find anyone beautiful enough for Ardeth, m-my-" He paused and coughed loudly to buy himself time as he literally felt as though he were choking on the words. His associate's head snapped back to glare at him; they needed him to execute the news perfectly if they both wanted to live. "My Chieftain," the articulate man finished courageously as his eyes remained forward, staring his abettor down. He did not like this kind of tactical planning but his accomplice assured him the plan would be flaw proof.

Akhen unsheathed his sword and lightly swung it around for show but then, in a split second, his attitude completely took a turn for the worse; he saw an opportunity. While the messenger's back was turned to Akhen, the ex-Medjai dictator quickly but silently made his way to the first man. It was an odd gesture since this man hadn't made any efforts to the conversation. The uneasy demeanor of the verbally inclined man didn't go unnoticed as the warlord.

The eyes of the second man widened but remained trained forward, movement would surely give them away. The two men were also defenseless since they bore nothing on them but the ancient robes they wore. As Akhen neared his dear friend, he tightly shut his eyes and prayed to whatever god was listening to protect him…

The first messenger noticed the change in his companion's attitude but it was all too late; he felt the steel under his chin before he could even slightly turn back to Akhen. He gently closed his eyes, cursing himself for his obvious, yet extremely foolish mistake. He felt the tip of the sword guide his face forward in Akhen's direction although his head remained down.

"Dabir," Akhen addressed him by his alias. "You have not spoken once at all during our rendezvous. I find this odd since I placed you in charge, why do you not speak?"

He had to think of an excuse quick, before Akhen realized that things were not what they seemed…

"All of the dust, sir," He coughed harshly, using his sleeve to cover his mouth, "I am a bit ill and wished not that you yourself became sick as well so I held my tongue. I spoke with Umar before we entered and commanded him to do all the speaking for me."

"Indeed," Akhen pointedly said. "You do sound rather awful; I don't believe I have ever heard your voice so low."

Both of the men thought he would have bought the excuse but that would have made matters far too easy…And lately, nothing had been easy for either of them. Akhen's rage got the best of him and back handed the so-called Dabir hard. The force of the hit alone caused the man to fall off to his side, hitting his head on a weapon rack on the way down.

"If I wanted to hear him, I would have called upon him!" This time came a kick to the ribs. "Dabir" started coughing even harder and clutched his sides in agonizing pain. Akhen smiled sinisterly as he watched the blood drip from the corner of the messenger's veil; his ring had made a vicious gash on the man's mouth and even ripped the fabric a small bit.

Umar watched his friend sadly. He wanted desperately to help him but Ardeth said, under no circumstances should their cover be blown; even if they were to get hurt. The false messenger, whose name was really Elias, thought of his true Chieftain's words and tried to allow them to give him comfort; it didn't help. It was like Ardeth knew exactly what he was getting into when he suggested this recon assignment, which was so unlike the Medjai…their specialty was most definitely not stealth.

But now Elias, more commonly known by Akhen as Umar, was watching someone he knew to be so strong, be struck down so forcefully by this self-proclaimed leader. It was hard enough to view but knowing this man, the man who was enduring all this pain, was the true leader of the Medjai absolutely broke Elias. He would give anything to help Ardeth now, to be the one being beaten instead of the real chieftain but Ardeth insisted he be the one in the "line of fire," as he put it. Ardeth reassured his men numerous times that it was the best if he be the one to go out on this mission with his brother, Elias. It made all of the men of the twelve tribes anxious, knowing their Chieftain and second in charge, were going to the exiled tribe of Apep. Some of them weren't too good with mathematics but two against 2 thousand didn't exactly sound like very good odds.

"This is a Syrian sword, Dabir," Akhen addressed Ardeth as he glared lividly at the knelt figure before him. "Passed down to me from my father, and his father before him and so on. Did you know that?"

Ardeth felt he had tested the waters enough and kept his mouth shut. He shook his head, keeping it declined at a very low position. He was lucky the covering over his face didn't fall as he was being knocked around.

Akhen continued. "Indeed, it was said to have slain seven thousand of the twenty thousand Egyptians in the battle of Kadesh. It hasn't been used since." Akhen paused and walked forward to "Dabir" who was sitting very, very still for the usually nervous messenger. In one swift movement, Akhen brought the sword to Ardeth's throat.

"I suppose it thirsts for blood after all these years," Akhen began to slowly cut into the man's flesh; not enough to kill him, but more than enough to leave a mark. Ardeth couldn't help the angry, yet betraying, flinch the ran up his spin. He hated this man more than anyone else in the world, and to only remain still in his prescience was trying. Akhen continued, "Wouldn't you think so? After all those thousands of years, it thirsts for just one more drink."

"P-please, sir!" Elias stuttered and dropped his torso into an over dramatic bow. He knew his brother's life was on the line and didn't like their odds. He had to think fast if they were going to have a successful mission. "I have more news for you."

Akhen pushed Ardeth out of the way and, in his frustration, kicked Elias with his boot. "Spit it out then!"

"We heard from the people of Cairo and Minya that there is a leader of a tribe west of here. She is said-"

"_She?_" Akhen questioned deviously and lowered his sword slightly. The thought of a powerful woman pleased him. He mulled over the idea of taking her for himself instead of setting up the trap for his enemy. After all, his previous wives just weren't strong enough for him. If this woman had combat training, then she might last more than a night with Akhen.

Ardeth nodded and continued, after he repositioned himself on his knees. "She is said to be a great leader of her people and fairly beautiful, sir. Baligh of Cairo tells me their tribe is located between Siwa and Bawiti at a small oasis."

There were a few moments of silence between the fake messengers and the conniving leader. Akhen was trying to deliberate his next actions. Should he capture her and keep her for himself or follow through with the plot as planned? Either way, he needed his group of banished miscreants to infiltrate the tribe's camp and capture her.

"How large is her tribe?" Akhen question, an evil smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

"Around one thousand, my liege. I'm not sure how many are warriors though." Ardeth answered, glancing through his hood back at his brother. He thought about how he should've taken one of the other men...It must've been hard for him to see such a beating happen.

"What else do you know?" Akhen questioned, pleased with the information he was receiving. He might not kill the messengers after all...

"They are an odd tribe, sir," Elias spoke up, "Like nothing we've ever heard of." He paused to take a deep breath. Elias had to calm his nerves before he continued. "They are split into two separate groups: The women resemble gypsies although, according to our sources, have no powers; whereas the men are trained to become assassin-like warriors. Yet, their commander is a woman...It doesn't make sense to me, sir."

Akhen nodded and called in his second in command, Ghassan.

Ghassan was a large man, over six and a half feet tall. He had a wide chest and exquisitely broad shoulders which bled down to his well-formed arms. After Akhen, Ghassan was the most feared. No one crossed his path, no one looked him in the eye and most of all, no one spoke to him but Akhen. Ghassan was also the man who greatly scarred Ardeth's chest. As if on cue, the flesh on the Chieftain's chest began to throb, remembering the sword laceration that plagued it for months. Images of the infection cursed his thoughts and it was everything for him to keep his self control in check.

"Ghassan," Akhen sounded so kind and inquisitive, "What do you know of this gypsy tribe to the East of here? Do they exist?"

"Indeed," Ghassan stated, glaring down at the messenger who he knew as Dabir. Something didn't seem right but he redirected his attention to his leader. "I also know that, with our full ranks, we out number roughly them six-to-one. They may have skilled men, but they are nothing compared to our army, sir."

"Perfect," Akhen purred as he turned to the kneeling men. "Dabir, Umar, you are dismissed."

The kneeling men bowed once more before exiting the tent. Ghassan watched them closely, he still didn't have a good feeling about their presence.

"Ghassan," Akhen addressed his second as Ardeth and Elias slipped out of the tent, "We attack the gypsy tribe at dawn."

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Ardeth and Elias quickly threw their disguises off, replacing them with their own.

"They're attacking at dawn, Ardeth!" Elias mentioned in a frantic whisper to his brother as he strapped his weapons belt on.

"_**Dawn!**_" he repeated as if Ardeth didn't hear him the first time.

The Chieftain peeled some of his robes back and felt his ribs. _Broken, _he thought to himself but refused to voice his injuries to his brother. They needed to leave before they were discovered by Akhen's men.

"I realize this, Elias." Ardeth mounted his horse, waiting for his younger brother to follow his lead. Within a minute, Elias jumped atop his horse and was riding off into the midnight dessert back to their tribe with his brother.

"So what is the plan?" The younger man called frantically, eager with both excitement and worry. Ardeth should've known Elias would react like this... He had to know every detail of a mission before the details were even thought of. Ardeth dismissed his question and told him to focus on the ride; they needed to get back to their tribe as soon as they could.


	2. Ch 2 Outrage

**AN:**I'm in the process of rewriting this story. That being said, during the rewrite _**the story won't change**_ much; but how I deliver the message will. So if you don't read the rewritten version, you won't be lost. My writing style is entirely different now and without a rewrite then continuing this story would be damn near impossible for me as an author. Hopefully this works for everyone.

_**IMPORTANT**_**: If there are any plot requests-or any requests at all-for the rewrite, do not****hesitate to tell me whether it be by message or review. I want you all to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.****  
><strong>**Hope to hear from you all soon,****  
><strong>**Adi**

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"Lady Vellainya!" The voices of yelling children invaded my ears. Much to my dismay, I was spotted. I loved the people of the village but I just wanted some much needed rest right about now. My journey was all too long and unfruitful.

I turned around into the sun to faintly see a small group of the village's children running towards me. This was the normal greeting I received and I thanked God that I had been riding a camel and not a horse or the docile beast would have easily reared up at the sight of such frantic movement.

As I put one hand up to shield my tanned face from the sun, I was able to feel the tidal wave of kids ramming into my legs, squeezing them tightly for a hug. Donkor, my camel, made a throaty noise in annoyance as he felt my body push up against his side. All of the trinkets hanging from his saddle entangled in my hair which might pose as a problem when I tried to walk away. He huffed again and nudged me with his nose. This was his warning to me. He was saying that he was ready to shake off any unwanted weight if it came to that. He was a moody creature but shushed when I placed a treat in his midst.

I then focused my attention on the children who were talking a mile a minute.

"One at a time, one at a time!" I pleaded as I pulled my long brown hair from the trinkets hanging from the camel's saddle.

"Tell us of the adventure, Lady Vellainya!" The youngest, Misho, exclaimed as he jumped up and down. In all reality, it wasn't an adventure at all. I was merely scouting for our next move. The oasis we were at was beginning to dry and we desperately needed a new place to live… But  
>I could tell Misho and the others longed for something else than just a bedtime story.<p>

"I don't have any sweets from my trip," I started as an echo of "Awww!" erupted from the kid's mouths. "But," I looked down to see all of their shining faces, glimmering with hope. "I do have a wonderful story for you all…"

Immediately their faces lit up with joy.

"After our evening meal I will be in the North Temple with the elder's who will also have questions for me. After I am done with their _drawl_," I drew out the word to emphasize how boring it would be as the children giggled, "I'll stay up as long as needed to tell you of my trip."  
>Without another word, the kids hurried off to get ready for the feast. The sooner they got ready, the sooner they could eat which meant the sooner they could listen to my story. But in the meantime, I had to actually come up with a story to tell them...<p>

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"You mean to tell us that you, in fact, did not find us a new home?" Ekur, the head council member, inquired. He leaned dangerously over his hands and it looked as if his gaze was peering into my very soul. Any other person would have shied away in fear but I refuse to be intimidated by this gossiping old fool!

"If you're looking at it that way, then yes, I did not find our tribe a place to stay yet, but I pl-"

"You disgrace us, Vellainya!" Ekur's "advisor" called to me. For the life of me I can't remember the little cretin's name. He was a plump, round man with eyes equally as large. More often than not, I found him in the storage bins, stealing from the daily food supply. Dates, candied fruits, cheese...With his pointed nose and fat body, he almost looked like the rat I knew him to be.

I could hear gasps of the other elders. The vile man called out my name informally without using my title and it was meant to be taken as an insult. I particularly hated being called "Queen" so the use of my first name was most welcome. The only factor that truly upset me was how rudely I was interrupted. Mistake one…

"Have you no recollection of the bloodline you descend from?" Ekur asked, even in the dimly lit room, I could see the vein pulsating in his forehead. "You gallivant around here like a mere commoner: chatting with the merchants, playing with the children, _sparing _as if you were a _MAN_!" By now he was standing, palms flat on the table. He glared at me viciously like a cat getting ready to pounce on its prey. Challenging me: Mistake two…

The whole corridor was uncomfortably silent. The people fidgeted nervously as they waited for me to lash out as I often did when I was insulted. Typically, I was able to remain calm for a short period of time before heads started rolling… But these men were trying my patience and I knew it wouldn't be long before I was at my limit.

"Maybe you should've been a _man_," Ekur continued. "A man would understand his duty and most definitely be easier to handle than that of a _woman."_

That was my breaking point but before I could lash out, Sargon, my second in command who was to my right, placed a large hand on my trembling shoulder. I had no idea I was shaking until he touched me. This small gesture was a reminder which allowed me to recall some pertinent facts: They were incompetent, old swine and I stood on higher ground, so to speak.

Sargon and I had been in situations similar to this before and I patted his hand, letting out a sigh. He gave me a wary look as he reluctantly withdrew his hand.

"Master Ekur," I began, allowing the look of disgust chip away from my face, "I would like to sincerely apolo-"

"I don't want to hear it, you insolent child!" Ekur wailed. This was the second time he cut me off and I could feel my blood boiling in my veins. I could only keep my façade up for so long before I became an animal. "You mock our people with your prescience! First: You leave on a journey and take far too long! Second: When you return, you bare the grim news that you have not found our people a h-"

"My people." I stated firmly, as I held my head up in defiance. The look on his face changed from anger to pure rage as I glared deep into his shallow eyes.

"How dare you!" He spat "How dare you call them your pe-"

"How dare you call yourself a member of this council!" I lunged forward a bit in my anger and clenched my fists. The people around me flinched and backed away. One woman screamed and clutched her husband. My people did love me, but they also feared me greatly. After everyone calmed, I continued.

"You were put on this advisory to help 'the commoners' yet all you do is mock their existence! Your words are poison, Ekur. I no longer wish to hear them. My own thoughts will become misconstrued and ill if I hear one more word from your ungrateful, gossiping mouth."

I finished my peace in a low, dangerous tone which caused everyone to remain silent. No one, not even Sargon, dared say anything to me. With that said I turned and stormed my way out, excusing myself and paying no attention to the murmurs at my back.

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I could hear my soldiers' howling from the sparring ring when I was not even fifty paces away from the council room. I hardly realized their calls made me walk at a very brisk pace, almost a run. They were waiting, as usual; to fight me as it became ritual for me to let my frustrations out after a meeting. Fighting was most definitely my outlet for anger. During our little duals, I was able to hone my skills even further; thus making myself the most skilled assassin amongst my ranks, even if I was a woman. My men knew of my talents and knew they would lose, if chosen to fight me, but felt honored to share the ring with the highest ranked fighter. I was able to coach them this way as well so, not only was I letting out my fury, they were learning from the pain too.

As I neared the ring, I sang out loudly to them in a rambunctious, high-pitched call that I knew would get their attention, for I only used it in these moments. Heads immediately began to turn in my direction and some of the novices sprinted forward, begging to go first. I hushed their calls albeit not all of them; they all were far too impatient...Whether it was because I was away scouting for two weeks or they knew I just got out of council, I'll never know. I was just happy to see them standing before me, obvious admiration in their eyes.

"Speech, my Queen, speech!" Boomed across the should-be quiet desert night as I hopped over the fence and into the ring. Right when I got them remotely settled, they got all riled up all over again. _Men, so easily distracted.  
><em>  
>"Well," I addressed my adoring public loudly, "I see I was well missed." That comment alone allowed me to be bombarded with laughter and praise. I quickly got in a defensive stance, crouching low and ready to pounce on anyone and anything coming my way. The hundreds of men circling the ring looked around at one another and shot me puzzled looks. "What are you waiting for, you hyenas?" I questioned, "Attack me!"<p>

Upon my request, some of the novices came forward both excited and nervous, I could tell by their shaking limbs. The elders despised when I decided to train them like this; complaining the new recruits more often than not, were out of duty for far too long after their injuries. I feel firsthand experience is the best training method. If they remember the pain of their mistakes, it's less likely for them to make them again.

Time had passed all too quickly.

We had been out in the sparing ring long into the night, almost early morning. I was still going strong whereas my men on the other hand were depleting easily which made me wonder if they kept up with all their training as I was away on my previous trip. I would have to speak with my brother and the other commanders about such concerns later…

The men, exhausted from their matches with me stood off to the side, holding whatever wounded area of their body presented injury, as they cheered on their fellow brothers although they all knew the outcome. I could see many of the wives yelling from the edge of our encampment for their husbands to come home. I guess I never understood that aspect of my warriors' lives, for I never desired for a family. I had my duty and I felt as if having a family would only stand in my way from fulfilling the people's wishes because of my own selfish needs.

"Can you believe them?!" I exclaimed, throwing a punch at one of my "attackers." "They said I was a disgrace! HA!" I still couldn't get over the council meeting. How dare they accuse me of so much and after I hadn't even been there?!

"I know, Vellainya, I know," Sargon was perched on the sparing ring's fence while eating his supper. _I'll have to apologize for making him miss his meal with his family_, I thought to myself as I punched Mahrus, another commander of our medium-sized army, in the gut. He let out a small wheezing noise and lunged for me. I dodged his attack and he fell to the ground with exhaustion. I quickly patted him on the shoulder, confirming he was now to go to the men who were "out."

"You know, I was there after all…" Sargon muttered to himself, thinking I could not hear him.

Another man, Firas, came from my right. I bent down just enough to look as if I was going to dodge then sent my fist into his jaw for a lovely uppercut. He groaned loudly and I finished him off with a push to the ground. He laid there, grunting for a few moments then muttered, "Mercy," when I was standing over him. I smiled and helped him to his feet.

"I was surprised though," Sargon called as I was grabbed from behind by someone. Considering how small I was, this could be any number of my men; although the vicious looking scar on the forearm told me everything I needed: Bashir.

"Oh? Why is that?" I inquired, jabbing Bashir in the ribs. He slumped over on my back as I grasped his wrist and sent him flying over my shoulder and into the other "attackers" that approached me. The men who were waiting for their turn to spar cheered louder for me at the sight of that particular maneuver. I couldn't help but smirk to myself as I turned to my next assailant.

"You see, 'inya, I only counted two mistakes during the meeting." Sargon nonchalantly tossed his plate aside when he finished speaking. I rolled my eyes as he hopped off the wooden fence; I knew exactly where he was going with this…

I lunged at him effortlessly but he countered my hand-to-hand combat blow. We were in the middle of our sparing dance when I asked "What's your point?" I got one good kick in his liver, but he was hardly stunned. Grabbing my leg, he twisted it mercilessly, causing me to fly through the air and land flat on my bottom. A large dust cloud puffed up upon my impact and I coughed madly while trying to get the dust out of my face. I huffed angrily as I got to my feet. When I was getting ready to attack, he turned to the howling soldiers against the fence to address them.

"Our Queen wishes not to fight any longer!" He called as my previous assailants let out groans of compliance while the rest spoke in booming, annoyed whines. "Go home to your awaiting wives! Tomorrow, we shall scout and spar more!" Sargon laughed as the yells of appraisal sounded. They all thought it to be an honor to spar with me whereas I used it as a perfect way to let out my frustrations.

…Frustrations which I was not finished handling. I glared bitterly at my brother before I turned from my second and began to stomp away from him. I kicked the plate he previously tossed down, causing a another cloud of dust to arise. Ending my sparing match early was not going to put me in a good mood. I was about ready to jump the portion of the fence furthest away from our camp when Sargon caught me by my ankle and forced me to sit on the hard wood of the fence. I glared daggers as he smiled sweetly as if he had no idea why I was angry.

"You're getting terribly irritable, my Queen," He stated, the mockery leaving his baritone voice only to sound concerned. I let out a sigh and gently pushed him back so I could make my way down from the fence. "My wife says you need a husband." He should praise the gods that he said that comment while my back was turned. I went rigid, clenching my fists.

"Your wife can keep her forked tongue behind her teeth!" I pointed an accusing finger at him and hastily turned to make my exit. No sooner than I made my peace, I immediately regretted my comment. Sargon's wife, Azeri, was one of the kindest women on the face of the Earth and I was elated to called her my sister-in-law...but sometimes she needed to keep her thoughts to herself. We didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on many topics. Sargon merely laughed, dismissing my rude outburst.

"I'm sorry you missed dinner with your family," I changed the subject fervently, walking in the direction of my huts. I knew he was rolling his eyes at my back, which could've been punishable if I cared enough to be a sniveling little girl and hold a trial for something so childish. Previous rulers had, but I am glad to know I don't have any of their blood in my genes.

"Come on, 'inya," he gently grabbed my wrist and pulled me back into a hug; "You know this isn't about me missing dinner with my family."

I sighed; he was always marvelous when it came to reading people, especially me. I returned the embrace of my brother as my breath hitched slightly. Closing my eyes, I allowed a single tear to fall. The pressure of being "Queen," mother of the people and warrior was catching up with me and I was having trouble managing them all as well as keep what little sanity I held.

"I've been doing this for ten years now…I don't know how much longer I can be this person, Sargon." I confessed into his tunic, I knew my voice wasn't loud and I prayed he heard me. I didn't want to repeat my too-real confession. I spoke louder for my next statement, "The council is holding another meeting in two days time but I already know it'll be about my predicament when it comes to the non-existent heir I have. I fear they will instruct me to marry one of the soldiers." I excused myself from his arms as we made our way back to the village.

More dirt kicked up at our feet, it hadn't rained in so long even if this was supposed to be the wet season. Our oasis was almost dried up…If we didn't find a suitable place to live, we were all going to die. One by one. The weight of the people rested on my shoulders and the stabbing pain in my stomach made me believe I was going to fail them, no matter how hard I tried to satisfy them.

"And what a happy soldier that man would be," Sargon joked, making the mood lighter, something he's always been wonderful at. "Haven't you seen the way the men grovel over you? You're Isis reincarnate in their eyes," he paused briefly before adding, "They even call you Isis behind your back."

I continued, waving away his light-hearted jabber. "Why can't I just proclaim your son as my heir? It only makes sense because, if I fall and you are capable of duty, you would rightfully take my place thus making Shadil the heir. So why not just make him my successor?" I sighed, knowing it would never even get debated in council. I'd probably be laughed upon by the elders for such a request since Sargon isn't really a _blood _relative.

"You know nothing within our tribe is that easy. So what if they force you to marry? You don't believe in love anyways." My adoptive brother jested, and then continued. "You just need a vacation from all this," he gesticulated to the village around us, walking off to leave me alone with my thoughts.

After that, everything happened all too quickly. Thinking I heard the horses stir in their stable, I tried to turn to see what the commotion was. A thick evil was in the air but as soon as I noticed my gut feeling, I was on the ground with a shooting pain in my shoulder. The shouts of my brother calling for the army pierced the silence as I saw him standing over my body protectively, sword drawn; ready to fight to the death. The last thing I remember is hearing the beating of hooves on the barren desert earth…Horses I knew weren't our own. Gods help us. 


	3. Ch 3 Self Sacrifice

**AN:**I'm in the process of rewriting this story. That being said, during the rewrite _**the story won't change**_ much; but how I deliver the message will. So if you don't read the rewritten version, you won't be lost. My writing style is entirely different now and without a rewrite then continuing this story would be damn near impossible for me as an author. Hopefully this works for everyone.

_**IMPORTANT**_**: If there are any plot requests-or any requests at all-for the rewrite, do not****hesitate to tell me whether it be by message or review. I want you all to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.****  
><strong>**Hope to hear from you all soon,****  
><strong>**Adi**

The desert hardly lay awake before the battle which would change numerous lives forever. The wind was still, the jackals rested; the moon was even sleeping behind the newly formed clouds of the darkened early morning. Everything was going according to plan: the beloved Queen should be captured, the horrid gypsy people shall be slaughtered, raped and taken as slaves and then the Medjai will fall right into Akhen's trap...Or so that's what Ghassan thought as he over watched the medium-sized nomadic village. The gods may or may not have a different plan…

It was all too blatant that the only woman in the sparring ring was the Queen; otherwise the men wouldn't be fawning over her in such a way. Ghassan couldn't understand their language but he was sure that they kept calling her formally when she first entered the ring; a phrase which sounded like "nga sarratum," but if it didn't mean Queen, it meant something because they said it enough throughout their shouts. He couldn't imagine someone's real name to be _Sarratum_… It sounded so, so **barbaric**, which is exactly how Ghassan viewed these people.

They lived in tents and huts made of many different animal skins which, Ghassan mused, probably smelled as bad as they looked. Their oasis was nearly dried and somewhat reflected the withering people around it, hardly awake to even lift the pales of water from the pool. This fight would be all too easy. He often wondered if this capture should even be called a battle, they all looked so weak, save for a few soldiers whom actually had some muscle.

Numerous times, the tyrant Ghassan had to quiet his own men as they watched the fights. The men were becoming too excited at the fact a woman was fighting all these shirtless heathens who were twice her size. Her clothing, or lack thereof, also got all of them, including Ghassan, in a rouse. None of the women they had ever come into contact with wore such revealing garb.

Her top was made of a blue silk which tightly hugged the top portion of her ample torso, leaving her stomach and lower back bare. Her tan silken pants and sash were low on her hips, swaying in the breeze as she moved fluidly with her attacks. They came down just below her knee, from there they could see she wore no shoes, but copious amounts of jewelry on her body and in her hair. Her exposed skin, from what they could tell, bore many intricate markings which were almost too precise to be real tattoo work. However, the other men bore no markings, their skin completely untouched except for the battle wounds many of them received.

The second in charge noticed a man go into the ring, addressing the group of men who yelled and groaned before turning to head back to their pathetic excuse for a village. Ghassan thought that now would be the perfect time to attack; the Queen was alone with one other soldier and after almost 5 hours of non-stop sparring, all the other warriors would be almost too exhausted to put up anything worthy enough to call a fight. This Queen, whoever she really was, was being exceedingly generous to Ghassan without even realizing it, she's worked her men into submission without the oppressors having to lift one finger.

Before Ghassan could actually command their ranks to attack, half the garrison took it upon themselves to go ahead and storm down to the village; with the large imposing man only a few feet from the Queen. He may only be one man, but one voice was all it would take for the army to awaken.

Ghassan quickly took the lead on his horse, racing down the dune and to the village from the sparing ring where the Queen had been only moments before. Sensing their presence, she began to turn. A gunshot, which was meant for the large man, sounded through the air but she turned in just enough time for the large bullet to go through her shoulder with ease. She let out a strangled yell before she fell to the ground.

Now the man she had been embracing in the ring sprinted to her body, sword drawn and ready for the attack.  
><em><br>"Eteru ina Sarratum! ETERU INA SARRATUM!"__**  
><strong>_  
>None of the exiled men knew what the muscular warrior was screaming, but it must've been some sort of warning or command. Milliseconds later, half the ranks were out of their houses, weapons in hand and congregating around the only person the Apeppan tribe needed to complete their mission: The Queen.<p>

The largest men of this odd gypsy tribe stood in a row facing Ghassan's ranks, holding their swords up high like a club, ready to swing at the legs of the horses upon impact. They were almost shoulder to shoulder between two sandstone huts, ensuring that the attackers would have to come trample them before ever becoming close to their Queen. They were honored to die for the woman who they all loved and respected. Ghassan was slightly amazed by their efforts although their attempts were bound to be very short-lived.

Ghassan stopped his horse outside of the edge of the village. Good commanders observed and gave orders and only fought when needed in his eyes. As he scanned the men he noticed some of their opposing forces pull the Queen's body off into the huts, trying to hide it. The Apeppan second tried to note where she was taken, although was distracted by the eerie silence.

Before the battle was about to actually begin, it seemed all stood still for a moment. The wind ceased to sing, the moon peaked out from behind the clouds to watch the massacre and all the domesticated animals of the village were silent, unmoving just like the warriors who were about to risk everything to ensure the life of their queen.  
><em><br>"ELI BALTUTI IMA IDU MITUTI INA ANNU UMIS!"__**  
><strong>_  
>After Sargon's menacing proclamation claiming there would be more dead than alive, his comrades came awake with the realization of what they were about to endure. They all heard one of their own scream "Adi mitu!" upon impact, wishing his brothers fight to the death to protect the Queen as well as their families.<p>

As if rehearsed, all the men in the front line, Sargon included, swept their swords forward in one fluid movement, cutting the horses' legs out from under them. The men on the horses behind the first infiltrating line impacted with their own fleet, causing them to topple to the ground easily. Many of Sargon's men were injured in the feat, but remained fighting to protect Vellainya. They were so caught up in the fight; they had hardly realized that one of the Apeppan men had discovered her body.

Ghassan smiled as he noticed his son found the poorly hidden yet unconscious Queen in an animal shack; but was shocked when he realized the expression on his son's face amidst all the chaos. Running whilst carrying the Queen's body, the young man began shouting unnoticed commands in a trembling, terrified voice. A crash sounded through one of the thin wooded windows and Ghassan watched as his son was taken to the ground by a full-grown lioness.

So that's what he was so terrified of…

The feral beast went straight for his kin's neck, practically snapping it in two as she dragged his son from the Queen, who was lying in the middle of the battle ground. Satisfied with her kill, the blood drunk lioness let out a loud roar as she was now flanked by a rather large male lion and yet another lioness. They stood in a lopsided triangle around the Queen who was now coming to her senses. She wobbled to her feet, using one of the cats as support, as she desperately tried to take in her surroundings. Her eyes widen at how massively outnumbered they were.

Vellainya racked her brain for a feasible plan…

Ghassan, unaffected by his son's recent death, called for the next three waves of warriors to encase the village in another assault. He silently hoped his son's body would distract the bloodthirsty animals into leaving the Queen unassisted. They needed the Queen and they needed her now. The sun would arise soon meaning people in the trade village would awaken and notice the copious amounts of men circling the huts. If Ghassan wasn't careful, someone would somehow alert the Medjai and they'd know of the assault, which would not make Akhen happy…Not one bit.

"Batiltu!" The Queen cried to everyone who could hear her, "BATILTU _**ANNU**_!" She belted out over the pandemonium. The Queen's men sheathed their weapons and held their hands up not in defeat, but only doing as they were told. Ghassan halted the oncoming attacking ranks, surprised to see even his men obey the language they did not understand.

Ghassan and the following ranks trotted their horses into the village, over fallen soldiers like they all were just out for a nice horseback ride through the desert. Seeing their unfazed manners made the Queen's assassin's unsettled and they were furious with her to call the battle to a halt.

/\\\\\\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/

"Who is your chief?" I spoke with the venom I felt towards the men who so wrongfully attacked my village. I still seethed, angry that I had to tell my ranks twice to stop fighting. My soldiers bowed their heads respect as I passed them, searching for the leader of this entourage. Many of the men who I questioned looked away, somewhat frightened that I'd run them through with my dagger, which would have been satisfying although I wouldn't have gotten any answers.

There was a call in a deep, menacing voice that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I turned to see a large man, almost foot and a half taller than I, appear on a pure white horse. Even in the dead of night, I could see the unforgiving scar that plagued the right side of his face which caused his upper lip to forever be construed in a grotesque way. I glared at him, repeating my question, more demanding than ever.

His voice was sinister and low as he spoke to me in a language I did not understand. The giant smiled at me and motioned for something behind us. I was seized immediately, with my wrists tightly bound in front of me. I was forcefully pushed down on my knees while one of the men's fingers dug themselves in the wound upon my should. Hissing in pain, I fixed my angry stare back at the ugly man, shouting for answers.

Upon the realization that I didn't speak their poisonous tongue, he began to motion towards me and then to the saddle of his horse. When I remained unmoved, he motioned again towards his men and again to the people of my village. He proceeded to drag one of his long, deformed fingers from one side of his neck, to the other side as if to pantomime the slitting of his own throat.

If I went with him, my people were safe; if I stayed, they would die all because of me which was a risk I was not willing to take. When my highly skilled assassin's also came to the realization of what this treacherous man wanted, they quickly unsheathed their weapons, ready for my word to commence with the battle. I shook my head at them, despair in my eyes.

"You're being unreasonable!" Sargon shouted through the madness at me. "Have you no faith in our ranks?" He sounded as hurt as I felt. I then explained that if my life would save the lives of thousands, it was a risk I had to take. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sargon and three others lunge forward, taking out some of the attackers. Sargon killed two quickly but I called for them to stop before they were killed as well. Immediately men from the opposing side encircled my fellow brothers, swords at their necks.

"No!" I called to them all, holding my bound hands up, "I shall go with this man." My townspeople roared in protest, stating they'd stand and fight for my safety. I merely shook my head, only momentarily defeated. I looked directly to the man atop the horse and nodded to him solemnly, clarifying I would go with him. Two of his equally menacing men, seized me from behind and forced a gag in my mouth. I was then thrown on the rear of the horse as if I were some luggage accessory. Another man placed a blindfold forcefully over my eyes, pulling my long hair greatly as he tied it in the back.

I felt something cold and hard collide with my head before I lost consciousness. I could only hope and pray that whoever this leader was would keep his word and leave my people be.

/\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Sargon watched helplessly as his sister was thrown on the back of this stranger's horse like she was no more than a slave. He gritted his teeth with rage, silently swearing he'd have his revenge, even if it cost him his life. Whoever these men were, they were trifling with a people they should not have even come near.

From his position, Sargon could not see what happened next to Vellainya; he heard all he needed to: A dull thud sounded when the Queen let out a loud whimper before her body relaxed. They knocked her out, they _forcefully_ knocked her out! After she agreed to accompany these filthy swine, they still harmed her.

Before his mind could catch up to his actions, Sargon strode forward swiftly before this odd looking tribe, who wore thick linen robes, clothing so unlike the Descendants of Akkad. Sargon hardly noticed the three commanders he was fighting alongside stepped forward as well, silently pledging their allegiance to him.

"Take us as well," Dagan, a large commander, stated as he knelt before the men with his hands forward, prepared to be bound. Sargon and the other two men mimicked his actions as they bowed their heads, forcing themselves to be submissive. If their Queen was going to leave with these men, they were too. They could devise a plan when they all reached whatever encampment but she was of their utmost concern.

Ghassan laughed loudly at the four men before him. Had the gods a sense of humor? Not only were they stealing the barbarically ravishing Queen, but now four of her largest warriors were asking to be taken prisoner…Or at least that's what he thought was happening. None of the "Medjai" could understand any of the language this odd looking people used.

These men would make wonderful slaves which would make the Great Akhen proud. He wickedly smiled and called upon the men of his ranks to give them the same treatment as the Queen.

Getting knocked out was bittersweet for them all. While unconscious, Sargon and the others couldn't see their wives and children crying before them, begging for mercy. They couldn't hear the screams and sobs of the townspeople, who were lost without their Queen and most skilled warriors. But most of all, they couldn't feel the pain the criminals bestowed upon them before being thrown over the backs of camels. Many kicks to the ribs and stomps to the legs had befell them. Now time would only tell where they would end up and what condition they'd be in. 


	4. Ch 4 Unexpected Visitors

**AN:**I'm in the process of rewriting this story. That being said, during the rewrite _**the story won't change**_ much; but how I deliver the message will. So if you don't read the rewritten version, you won't be lost. My writing style is entirely different now and without a rewrite then continuing this story would be damn near impossible for me as an author. Hopefully this works for everyone.

_**IMPORTANT**_**: If there are any plot requests-or any requests at all-for the rewrite, do not****hesitate to tell me whether it be by message or review. I want you all to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.****  
><strong>**Hope to hear from you all soon,****  
><strong>**Adi**

On the way away from the Apeppan encampment, Ardeth was between a rock and a hard place: Should they return to the Medjai village and prepare for Akhen's arrival or should they try to find this peculiar tribe and warn them of the attack on their queen? Ardeth had to think fast and as much as he wanted to help whoever this woman was, his duty was to his people first.

…Still, he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach upon just leaving them, unknowing of the assault. He couldn't place the emotion…maybe guilt? Ardeth knew he couldn't be held responsible for the attack, he _had_ to warn the Medjai or there would be way more casualties because of Akhen than even Anubis himself could count.

Immediately upon return, the Chieftain sent out numerous falcons to the commanders of the twelve tribes, giving them detailed information about all he had found out on the mission. Ardeth knew Ghassan and Akhen would arrive shortly after capturing the queen and requested assistance should Akhen recruit more vigilantes. Also, he sent out another bird to the O'Connell's informing them they should, under _no_ circumstances, travel into the desert until he gave them further notice. He realized how suspicious that sounded, considering their most recent battle with the Army of Anubis, and stated it was only because of quarrels with a neighboring tribe…Which wasn't exactly a lie, just not the whole truth. He couldn't possibly express his thunderous hatred for the Apeppan tribe on such a small piece of paper.

During his rushed task, he noticed how Horus was anxious to fly out on missions again. A sad smile crept to Ardeth's features; having Horus alive was bittersweet… He didn't lose his "best and most loyal friend," although he had to sit and watch as the bird helplessly tried to fly. Ardeth came to terms with the fact Horus wouldn't ever fly long distances again, but Horus obviously hadn't. He'd sit and force his broken, but healing, wing to flap only to stay rooted to his perch. It pained the commander to see him in such a condition.

"We're getting old, my friend," The Medjai muttered to the bird as he exited the sandstone aviary.

/\/\/\/\/

Ardeth paced back and forth in his tent before his eldest siblings, Tuvia and Shira, trying to figure out a probable plan of action. It took Ardeth and Elias all night to ride back to their tribe with the horses pushed to their fullest speed capabilities. That meant if Akhen was serious about attacking this "gypsy tribe" then it was already too late to aid them in any way. His brow furrowed. He knew Akhen sought to attack the Medjai as well, only using this woman as a distraction…but why wouldn't they just use one of their other decoys? What made this woman so precious aside from her obvious title as queen?

…Unless Akhen and Ghassan actually believed their blatant lies about her appearance. Over half the information Ardeth and Elias had given Akhen had come from the pit of deceitfulness to save their own necks. If at least one of them didn't make it out of the encampment alive, their people, as well as the people of the "gypsy tribe," would have been doomed.

Ardeth finally came to a halt in his movements, trying to come to a decent conclusion. Why hadn't they heard from any of the Apeppan messengers? Even if they were a foul, tyrannical tribe, they still announced their presence…Akhen _loved_ big entrances. Maybe they halted the attack? No, Akhen seemed too interested in the woman to have waited…

Ardeth's feet began to carry him to the other side of the room when a hand tightly caught his bare forearm; he had briefly forgotten he took off his tunic as instructed by Shira. The Medjai glared down at his sister, who seemed utterly unaffected by his glance. She merely rolled her eyes and pushed him down in a chair.

"Be still," Shira, his eldest sister, chuckled as she tried to work on his deluge of wounds. "How on earth am I supposed to work on you if you can't remain still?" She muttered, fussing over the knot upon his head which was bestowed to him by that filthy Akhen man.

While Ardeth was in the aviary, Elias brashly spoke to his siblings of how Ardeth was treated, claiming he wanted to kill Akhen right then. His outburst was what forced the Chieftain to place him on watch. Ardeth knowingly presumed Elias wouldn't be able to emotionally stomach seeing the extent of his wounds.

"Maybe you're just getting too old, _sister_," Ardeth said through clenched teeth, "Therefore you cannot keep up."

Shira smiled sweetly at him as she placed deliberate pressure on his broken ribs with her narrow fingertips. She was childlike in her swift actions to cause him a bit of pain for bitterly attempting to insult her age, as he was only two years younger than she. Shira wouldn't ever admit it, but she was satisfied when he flinched away from her touch. She smirked inwardly, knowing she bested him.

"Dear brother," Her voice was sticky sweet, mock innocence, "I didn't hurt you, did I?" A grunt was his response to Shira. All he wanted to do was figure this puzzle out and didn't need her comical antics to distract him. Her cold fingers on his bare skin was more than needed to contort his naturally handsome features into disgust. He wasn't disgusted with her, just the bemusement of the situation.

Tuvia laughed to himself, their playful banter never ceased to amaze him. It was humorless enough for Ardeth though, who had grown far too serious for his own good, especially with the most recent events of Ahm Shere. The eldest often wondered whatever happened to the little, spiteful boy who'd pull his sister's hair and threw food across the table at dinner.

"Akhen could've been bluffing," Tuvia mentioned, noting how Ardeth was harshly taking the information. He knew the expression on his brother's face wasn't due to the pain of being bound around his midsection. They were all utterly perplexed about what exactly Akhen sought to achieve.

Tuvia felt sorry for Ardeth, having all this responsibility thrust upon him during such adolescence. Everything happened for a reason, Tuvia supposed, reflecting on his riding accident which changed all their lives. He subconsciously massaged his knee, remembering the pain he felt as the spooked horse shattered the bones in his leg. Inevitably he was unable to ride long distances or fight ever again which then promoted his brother from second in command to Chieftain when Ardeth was only 18; Tuvia being five years his elder.

The rank change had not been easy for either of them. Though Tuvia trusted his brother greatly, he felt as if he was abandoning his rightful duty far too early. He knew eventually he'd have to step down, giving the command to his brother but didn't think it would happen to him when he was mere 23 years of age. Ardeth had only been sworn in as a Medjai for two years prior to the accident and hardly had any time in the field. The change was abrupt and the brothers had to react quickly, especially if Ardeth was going to live up to his title.

Then, only four years after being named Chieftain, the battle over Hamunaptra rang out against the French Foreign Legion and the Tuareg warriors. The Medjai stood watch as the two opposing forces fought over a land neither of them could fully comprehend. Afterwards, upon Ardeth's 25th birthday the Creature had risen and again not ten years after the first occurrence. Being Chieftain was a hard, grueling task and Tuvia, although he was older, didn't know if he could've handled such mishaps with the valiant ease his brother did, which is why he knew his accident was a blessing instead of a curse.

The three eldest Bay children were broken out of their thoughts when Elias stormed in the dimly lit room, his worry stricken features glowing in the crooked candle light.

"They've arrived," he hyperventilated, bending forward and placing his hands on his knees, "They're just off the horizon to the south," he mentioned, wheezing and coughing. There wasn't enough oxygen in the world to grace his lungs.

Shira and Tuvia were next to him in a quick second, offering him water and a place to sit. He had been on watch almost since his arrival to the village and was close to sleep atop his horse when he noticed the colossal dark cloud of transgressors just off the horizon. Even with the sun setting, he was able to behold the banners and flags which certain members of the "tribe" carried during their form of formal gathering. He knew this Akhen man was gaudy, but _banner carriers_? The Medjai didn't even do anything like that for Ardeth's many returns to the city.

Time was on their side, it would take at least another two hours for the Apeppan tribesmen to officially arrive in the outskirts of the town; by then it would be dark. Elias jumped down from his horse, whistling to it in a low tone so it knew to return to the stables. The rest of the journey was on foot so not to alarm any of the villagers, which a mad dash to his brother's home on his steed would be sure to do.

"Come with me," Shira offered, "You shall rest now, brother." Elias nodded, thankful to have his eldest sister to lean on, almost on the verge of collapsing. He could relax a bit, knowing his brothers would be able to handle the news from there. He yearned to return to his own family, knowing his wife would be worried sick when sleep finally graced his presence.

/

Almost directly after Elias' entrance, Ardeth and Tuvia made their leave. The Chieftain had to congregate with his commanders and "welcome" Akhen and the Apeppan tribe into the city. They had to pretend Akhen's arrival was a surprise, as not to alarm their adversaries they had knowledge about their presence all along.

"Ardeth, I'm not entirely sure it to be wise for _you_ to meet them," Tuvia mentioned cautiously in a hushed voice, sure the other commanders didn't hear. His brother shot him a sideways glance from his horse, unsure of the meaning of his words. They were only meager minutes away from the tribe and _**now**_Tuvia began to voice his concerns? The tribe wasn't even one hundred feet away!

Ardeth looked to his brother full on, frustration and confusion plaguing his overly stressed features. "They would be suspicious had I not shown." The tone of his voice made Tuvia realize that his decision wasn't up for discussion.

The eldest sighed, how stubborn his brother was. Had he not already been put in enough danger? His ribs were broken, face bloodied and bruised, desperately needing stitches…and yet, he sought to face these men again. Stubborn or not, Ardeth was born to be the leader the Medjai needed, everyone within the community knew that; so the fact this "Akhen" had the audacity to claim himself as a leader was insulting beyond all reason. _Tyrannical dictator_ were the first words Tuvia thought of when pondering this man's existence.

"Just make sure you keep your face hidden," The eldest instructed, the demanding tone matching his brother's, "Your wounds are too distinct and would surely give you away otherwise."

Ardeth slightly nodded, his brother had a point. Had Akhen known about the mission, half the Medjai would've been killed already due to his rage. The other warriors followed his actions as he pulled his hood high and over his head, concealing much of his face as well. He forced his balaclava up as well, his menacing eyes glaring forward as he watched the tribe near.

/

Akhen was more than pleased when saw Ardeth and his men awaiting them on the edge of town. How would it look to the people to see their beloved leader accompanied by him? He knew his status among their tribe was undesired, all of them were viewed as "exiled."

HA! What a jest. Every man of the Apeppan tribe knew their dark god viewed them on a higher standard than the Medjai. The removal of their tattoos was only the beginning, for all their tribesmen had the Markings of the Medjai taken away from them. None of the Apeppans regretted the painful, searing blade cutting deep into their flesh to remove the skin which was tainted with ink; many of them thought it to be an honor to be brandished with scars instead of those hideous markings.

The removal of Akhen and Ghassan's tattoos had been far different though… Both men were corrupt at a young age, not fully understanding what it was to be a true warrior. Venturing into one of the sacred tombs, they read of the dark god Apep, who seemed to be able to please all of their fiendish needs. After selling their souls, the Medjai found the chaotic men unconscious, muttering the forbidden incantation in their delirium.

The novices killed one man, Ardeth's father, but stated they weren't in their right minds and couldn't place who it was; which of course was a lie. Aside from their chaotic nature, they had something else in common: Their hatred for that goody-goody Bay family. But, they couldn't just fess up to the slaughter of the then Chieftain. They stated Apep came to them and said he needed a worthy sacrifice and the Chieftain was more than enough to please the evil god. After their trial amongst the elders, they were outcast from the civilization, never to return to the Medjai village…which is exactly where they were; on the outskirts of the village, facing Ardeth and his band on loyal, foolish warriors.

A smile crept to Ghassan's scarred mouth when he came to the realization they would be going against their very banishment if they were permitted into the city. What an uproar that would cause.

"Ardeth, my friend," Akhen's voice was deep, smooth even, "It's good to see you after such many years. No hard feelings about your father, he was a very good man after all."

"Just not good enough," Ghassan finished with a laugh, pulling his horse next to Akhen's facing Ardeth and the other Medjai, who were hard to place in the darkness of the night. The large man glared deeply into the eyes of the warriors, their faces all covered by the balaclavas they wore. Each one a void of emotion, including the man he knew to be Ardeth.

Had Ardeth been younger and more spiteful, he knew his actions would have betrayed him in that instance. His face was a stone of no emotion although inside he was raging to kill both of these men and their followers mercilessly, as he knew they did to his father. They even had the dauntlessness to bring up the previous Medjai Chieftain like his death was some humorous laughing matter!

"Your presence is most unexpected," Ardeth forced his voice to remain even. "What brings the banished tribe of Apep to that of the Medjai?" Ardeth smiled inwardly to himself, seeing Akhen's twitching smile falter at his words, knowing his question cut like a razor into "The Great Akhen's" psyche. The Medjai had hit a nerve although Akhen's next statement threw him off.

"We wish to reclaim our markings, _friend,_" The dictator stated with a smile. "That is, should the Elders permit this request of us." Akhen knew that any proposed offer would have to be taken up with those delirious elders which could take days…but Akhen and his ranks only needed a matter of hours to wipe out the main Medjai village.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Tuvia ground his teeth together as he contrived the malicious inquiry from his mouth. His stomach flopped around and twisted inside him as he felt the hate for this tribe surfacing. The eldest couldn't possibly think of anyone, or anything else in and of this world that he hated…not even The Creature.

"We have come to seek the forgiveness of your betrayed people and wish to present you with a gift, as to make amends for our untimely absence during your battle with the Anubis Warriors." Ghassan finished for his superior, looking Tuvia straight in the eye as if to challenge him. The silence was tense as the opposing forces remained constrained within the intense inner battles they were all facing.

_Untimely absence, _Tuvia thought; knowing the Medjai wouldn't stoop so low as to ask the aid of this dark, deceitful people even if matters had been at their worst. He looked to his brother briefly whose eyes remained forward during the thick silence.

Ardeth heard a small groan from the back of one of the Apeppan horses. In the darkness, he could not see what it was, but noticed Akhen lean backwards, eyes trained forward as he hit something wrapped in cloth. A whimper sounded and all was silent once more. Ardeth's gut told him that the Queen was wrapped in that cover. She had come to her languorous senses and "the leader" knocked her unconscious once more, with a look on his face as if there was not a care in the world. _Disgusting…_

The Medjai tasted copper in his mouth. As a reflex he licked his lips…his mouth was bleeding. The laceration from Akhen's ring oozed blood from Ardeth's flesh; that's when he realized how tightly his jaw was clenched; teeth bared in a abhorrent snarl. He was grateful his face wasn't disclosed for his expression was sure to betray his forced demeanor.

"We cannot grant you access into the city or to use our oasis," Ardeth's authoritative voice commanded. Into the city was a given, but he, as Chieftain, took it upon himself to protect their vast oasis as well…He didn't want any poisoning going on. "This shall be so until we have word from the Elders as verdict of your request."

WHAT. They traveled all that way only to be told they couldn't even enter the damned city?! Ghassan was outraged, the only way their plan to take out the Medjai would work was if they were in the village! They couldn't possibly ambush them from the outside in, even with their ranks; doing so was a suicide mission!

"Very well," Akhen stated who, like Ardeth, wasn't allowing his all too apparent rage get the best of him, "The Peace ceremony shall be held tomorrow at noon betwixt your city and our camp," Akhen paused, letting his words sink in, "For I wish to give this possession to you regardless of our tribe's status among your people."

Ardeth nodded his forced approval, knowing his voice would delude him should he speak.

With Akhen's last request stated, the Apeppan tribal leaders turned and left, leaving Ardeth's commanders even more perplexed than before. They knew his kindness was twisted with lies and deceit, but why on earth was he willing to give them anything at all?

After his arrival back to the city, Ardeth called upon the other highest ranked warriors, instructing them to inform the other commanders of this "ceremony." The Chieftain was working off instincts; instincts which told him they had to prepare for an ambush… 


	5. Ch 5 Ceremony Part 1

**AN:**I'm in the process of rewriting this story. That being said, during the rewrite _**the story won't change**_ much; but how I deliver the message will. So if you don't read the rewritten version, you won't be lost. My writing style is entirely different now and without a rewrite then continuing this story would be damn near impossible for me as an author. Hopefully this works for everyone.

_**IMPORTANT**_**: If there are any plot requests-or any requests at all-for the rewrite, do not****hesitate to tell me whether it be by message or review. I want you all to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.****  
><strong>**Hope to hear from you all soon,****  
><strong>**Adi**

A loud, piercing ringing noise woke me from my unconscious state. It was so high, so shrill, I began to mistake it for a woman's scream. Although, even if a woman was screaming, I wouldn't have any idea where to look; for I couldn't piece together where I was thanks to the thick, hot blindfold covering my eyes. I could tell it was made of a sturdy, unyielding piece of leather and cotton which smelled atrocious.

With each short breath I took to try to clear my nostrils of the rancid cloth, my chest felt tighter and tighter. I sleepily fought with the bonds at my back which kept me latched to that cactus-like wood. That's when I noticed there was _something_ between me and the post, which was bunched up and most definitely didn't help my breathing difficulties. Everything was working against me, all I wanted to do was fill my lungs with air.

I knew it to be high noon, the sun was too hot for it to be any other time…especially during this part of the season. Without my sight, I was unsure if my skin was wet because of sweat or blood, if not both.

As I came to my senses, the pain coursed mercilessly throughout my entire body like a never ending lightning bolt. I willed my muscles to make any sort of movement of my limbs, but each attempt was languorously failed. My head pounded against the hard, what seemed like a post, I was tied to. My arms were so harshly tied behind my back, it felt as if my shoulders would dislocate at any given moment. I hissed as the stabbing pain in my right arm became evident.

Where was I and why was I tied up? Why was I in so much _pain? _A small cry escaped from my lips when the throbbing in my lower abdomen felt as if it was going to kill me. My pain not once decreased, but only accelerated as my awareness became apparent.

"My Queen, you're awake?" I heard Sargon's voice as the memories shot into my mind.

Sparring, the attack, the cruel hit to my head. The throbbing pain made me groan loudly; sitting in the heat was not helping my condition, whatever it may be. I could feel my legs were loosely bound and I fought roughly to free them. I now realized shoes were placed on my feet, and small ones at that. The more I struggled to get the shoes and rope off, the more burning I felt all over my body. I could feel the ache go from my head, down my spine, through my legs, to my toes and back again but still I fought. I would not be so easily broken by these men.

"Vellainya, _stop_ struggling this instant!" My brother demanded harshly. I rolled my eyes under the blindfold. "They'll realize you're awake." He warned nervously…I suppose we were still outnumbered. _**WE. **_This was not supposed to be a "_we" _mishap, but only an _**I**__. _I couldn't possibly have myself and my brother in this much danger.

I grunted, shoving my back into the post forcefully. I'd never been taken prisoner before and I wasn't exactly exhilarated by this predicament. I was rather disgusted with myself, for allowing this. Had I stopped in one of the nearby villages during my trip, I was sure to hear rumors of some sort of attack…but no, I felt as if I had been gone for far too long and now look at what troubles I've gotten my people in. Granted, nothing could've really been done differently after my return, but I still was very displeased.

"Why are _you_ here?" I turned my head in the direction I thought Sargon to be. I felt like I made it very clear that I was the only one who should agree to go with this vicious tribe. I was the only one to be put in danger, not any of them…Especially my brother. "Did they capture you?"

"No, my Queen," Came Dagan's voice from my right, "We asked to accompany you."

"You _what?_" I ground my teeth together, spitting the words out sinisterly. Dagan and I must've been tied next to one another, for I felt someone flinch at my tone. "Please tell me this is some sort of joke." I growled in frustration.

"Well," Sargon again, "We couldn't let you have all the fun."

Wonderful, not only was I captured, but our city was missing their second in command as well as another one of our more advanced fighters all because of their selfish needs to protect me. I might demote them for a week back to novice when we return…_If_ we return. The odds were not in our favor. I was beginning to feel the pain of thirst and hunger and I knew my men were not far behind from feeling it as well. As I spoke, the skin at the corners of my mouth cracked and now blood leaked upon my lips and the stifling clothing I wore. The taste of blood and dust wasn't exactly appealing. What a mess _we_ were in…

"Lugal and Naram accompany us as well although they have not awoken yet, my Queen."  
>I sighed, knowing that more likely than not, they were dead. If they have not woken, then they have most likely fallen prey to the desert heat as we sit here in the scorching, unforgiving sun.<p>

"What's the extent of your wounds?" The fury I felt moments ago was masked by the solicitude which grappled me so swiftly. I knew I was injured, although I was the target meaning there was no way in hell this tribe spared my men. The silence was thick and hot, like the sun which beat down upon us; I knew they were deliberating on lying to me.

"Nothing we have not been dealt with before, my lady." Dagan tried to keep his voice strong, but I could ascertain his true meaning. I had dealt with some very specific hostage situations before; since I was the main target for the capture, they were probably treated far worse than I…although the coursing pain on the inside and outside of my body made me want to believe different.

"There is not much we can do now," I mentioned gloomily, "Try to conserve your energy." My voice was a little harsher than what I had liked it to be, but they now knew my words were a command and not merely a suggestion.

"As you wish, my Queen." Dagan and Sargon said simultaneously in a very sad, monotone voice.

I was furious. Furious at the fact they decided to come, although somewhat grateful I wasn't in this alone. Disappointed knowing their condition could be far worse than mine and utterly baffled that we were in this situation. I prayed to whatever god listening that our people remained unscathed. None of us even truly _knew_ what these men wanted! Their language was so unlike our own. One shouldn't even be allowed to call them men, for they were lesser than the sand in my shoes.

I tried to relax myself but sitting on the ground, back forced against _something_, with my legs and arms bound was not the most comfortable position ever. I knew the clothes I wore were not of my own wardrobe. They were constricting, hot and hard to breathe in particularly in this fiery weather; exact opposite of the multitude of linen skirts and silk tops I wore.

The men who captured us did not seem the type to travel with women…meaning I had been clothed by a man, if not that scarred warrior himself. I didn't want to think of the repulsive things that probably happened to my body as I had been deep in my slumber whilst they undressed and redressed me. I knew some of the dormant thoughts were probably true, feeling the stinging pain upon my thighs and hips. I had never so welcomed unconsciousness in my life. I thanked the gods I hadn't been awake during the morning's misery…Maybe the spiritual beings were on our side after all…

Before I knew it, I was struggling against my bindings and the agony again; kicking up dirt, cursing and being rather loud and unruly for a "lady"…I wanted attention; knowing my captors would probably move me to another location. I could use this opportunity to possibly get the blindfold off and scan my surroundings. After that would come the plan of escape, a plan which must be flaw proof otherwise any chance of escape would die along with us.

I heard someone in front of me stir. Whoever it was inhaled sharply from his snoring slumber. I hoped it to be Lugal or Naram but was sadly mistaken. The man yelled a command in a that foul language of theirs and kicked my feet which inevitably caused more sand to enter my mouth. I gasped when the salt in the sand hit the numerous burns from the sun my body had also acquired. I did not cry out, I wouldn't bestow upon him that magnitude of satisfaction.

"You have no command over me, _fool!_" I yelled sharply and gathered up the small amount of blood and saliva that graced my mouth and spit it in the direction of his voice. He yelled again, disgust manifesting his tone. I waited for him to near me, using his stomps and the vibrations of the ground to guide me to allow my mind's eye to see where he was. Right at the last moment, I swept my legs around beneath his feet. I could hear him fumble to the ground hard, colliding with what sounded like the chair he was most likely just perched in moments before.

More footsteps; which sounded like two, maybe three men coming our way. I recognized the man's voice automatically…The tall, scarred warrior from the night before, the one who captured us. The frenzy of bitterness coursed through my veins once more. Just knowing I was anywhere close to this so-called Chief made me blind with rage and, given the chance, I would stop at nothing to seek my fruitful revenge.

"Come back for more, eh?" Although I was sightless, I demonically laughed loudly at them, picturing their displeased looks in my mind. So pathetic. "Ignorant fools."  
>I didn't care if they couldn't understand me, I was driven to make this capture as distasteful for them as it was for me.<p>

I heard more words of their atrocious tongue as I felt two men near me, untying me from the constricting rope around my midsection. They hoisted me to my feet and another man loosened the bonds at my ankles; I was then pushed forward, expected to walk. I made my way forward, tripping many times unexpectedly...I couldn't bear weight on my legs for even a few seconds! Upon my eighth stumble, they were fed up with my clumsiness. I was pulled to my feet again as the blindfold was taken off my eyes…Almost all too soon.

I strained my eyes to adjust to the brilliant desert sun…although, needless to say, it was a sensory overload for my beaten mind. I felt dizzy as I faltered between the verge of being alert and lethargically inanimate. I fell forward with my steps; no idea where my legs were leading me. Focusing on walking alone, my brain had no other thoughts. Everything escaped me. There were no noises, there was hardly any sight; everything being blurred and presently, it took every power within me just to stumble a few steps.

/

For a queen, she was deplorable. Ghassan wanted to feel sorry for the Queen as he humorously peered down upon her while she stumbled along on broken and bruised feet. He simply couldn't care for her though, her and her people were _so_ very pathetic. She didn't even awaken while he and Akhen were having their _fun _with her in the darkness of the early morning.

They figured that she'd most certainly awaken when they fragmentized her limbs so ruthlessly; smashing her with anything and everything they could get their greedy hands on. After that endeavor proved colorless and arid, the leader and his second hoped and prayed to Apep she'd scream, possibly even cry out while the forced themselves onto her…but alas, her mangled body didn't even stir in her benumbed state. She would have been all the more gorgeous to them, had she been attentive and knowing of their callous tasks. What a waste of energy for them both. Ghassan wondered if Ardeth would take such spoiled goods as a decent gift, let alone a possible bride. Subconsciously, Ghassan was glad they were getting rid of her, taking out the trash so to speak because she wasn't worth either of their time. They probably would've just killed her and her men hadn't they already promised them to Ardeth.

"What was all that yelling about?" Akhen was ahead of them all, standing outside the makeshift ceremonial tent they pitched the night before. He hardly noticed the Queen fall before his feet has she rapidly became on the edges of a complete comatose phase. Akhen nudged her away with his foot carelessly; she was no more than a burden to him now.

"She had awoken," Ghassan mentioned, "Even tried to undress herself." All of the men shared a shortened chuckle. The Queen cut them off when her desperate gasps for life sounded, echoing loudly through the day. Ghassan nonchalantly got her to her feet, relieving some of the pressure in her chest from the stifling clothing.

"Yes, well," The Leader continued, "Take some of those clothes off of her, if we are going to sell this presentation to Ardeth, those garments will not do her justice…Although her skin will." Akhen sneered bitterly, dead set on demoralizing her inexorably in front of everyone. Akhen and Ghassan needed some sort of payback for her mental absence in the previous nights nefarious acts.

"Pick her up and place her body in this," Akhen continued with a laugh as he handed a large, bulky cloak to the Apeppan commander, "Ghassan, you truly do have a sick sense of humor…I enjoy it." Akhen concluded, as he watched one of his men undress and redress her. It really was a pity she hadn't lasted with them; she seemed so promising at first. And now her beauty was going to be wasted on that of the Medjai. It was most definitely wasted potential in his eyes.

Ghassan shot his commander a look of inquiry, helping the newly dressed "Queen" into the awaiting soldier's arms. She was then thrown over the his shoulder, once again being treated like a piece of luggage. The second in command rolled his eyes at the sight; once more, deplorable.

"Forcing her to walk when you know very well her limbs are shattered," He praised, clapping the large man on the back with approval. Akhen shook his head, sharing a laugh with all his commanders as the flap to the tent was opened for him. It was time to confront those agitating Medjai…

/

The long dining table faced the entrance, the Chieftain and his family sitting behind it; none of them even touching the food that they knew had most likely been poisoned maliciously. Ardeth sat in the center, flanked by his mother and youngest sister; should an attack arise, he needed to protect them. From there each of his other siblings sat between a commander or soldier, he couldn't be too careful when it came to their safety.

"Son, you'll work yourself into a sickness of nerves if you keep that up," Nazerah Bay, half-scolded her second eldest son who couldn't remain unmoved, not even if his life depended on it. He fiddled with the ends of his sash, tapped his fingers on the long, hardwood table in front of them, played with the silverware before them, darted his eyes around the dimly lit tent, most likely charging his mind with scenarios he thought might ensue. She knew him all too well.

The matron sighed, she had never seen him this worked up in her life and it was indeed nerve wracking for everyone around. The sizable Bay family, as well as the other Medjai commanders had been anxiously awaiting this "ceremony" to officially begin. None of them could even come close to trusting the men who had slain the previous Chieftain.

He couldn't possibly sit unmoved, not at a time like this. Ardeth knew Akhen and Ghassan's actions to be unjust and none of this _felt_ correct. Not one of the Medjai should be here, let alone his family who insisted on accompanying him. This meeting shouldn't be happening, not like this…_**not**_ on Akhen's terms. The Chieftain should've never agreed to such a formal assembly…he knew something was bound to go wrong. His whole family was trapped in the tent with him and if anything happened to one of them, he'd never forgive himself. Mayah, his youngest sister of only 20, clenched his tense hand, bringing him once again to reality.

Ardeth was about to respond to his mother's empty concerns when it finally started. The lamps were brightened harshly, although the darkness of the sanctuary still was clinging to the room's ambiance. The performers since fled out the entrance swiftly and all was dead quiet.

The Chieftain's senses forced themselves to alert as Akhen entered, being flanked by Ghassan and another man who carried the woman. He couldn't actually see any portion of her body, beings as the decorative cloak she wore was far too large for her slight figure…but it seemed she was no longer of this world. They had moved her around carelessly and her limbs flopped as if no bones had been constructed within them. He was sure she neared death.

Four other men had also been brought in the tent with much force. Ardeth knew them not to be Apeppan, they were far too large. It took three to four of Ghassan's men just to handle one of these other warriors, who fought although they were battered and near unconsciousness themselves. They were probably captured along the way and stripped of their clothes, now only wearing cut off linen pants; pants which were as equally abused as their bodies.

"…And we now present to you,"

Ardeth looked up from his trance. How long had Ghassan been speaking to him? And _what_ had he even said? It was too late now to even begin to comprehend what was going on. Although, the confusion wouldn't plague his features; he became a void of emotion.

"The Queen and her followers." Akhen brilliantly said, as if to present the Medjai with the finest of metals.

/

The thick elaborately designed garment fell like a tidal wave of cloth from her body. The hood released her hair which cascaded down her mangled shoulders and bare back like fine silk, although that was the only remotely glamorous portion of her appearance. She was close to being naked, only wearing bottoms which hardly covered her before the eyes of these _men_. Sargon mused most of the gasps had been because of such exposure, especially in front of so many men. His blood boiled within his veins.

How _dare_ they expose his Queen to these people! Defiling her honor deceitfully, who were they to have requested such a show? And even so, no woman should be treated so carelessly, let alone _his _Queen.

He glared passed her battered back to the man sitting at the middle of the table, he must've been the one who commanded their capture; he noticed how the scarred warrior had pushed his Queen to her knees in front of the tattooed man, presenting her as if she were a laborer; showing him her teeth, prying her eyes open, holding her broken arms out to their full length, cupping and showing off her breasts relentlessly. _Repulsive._

He knew his sister and Queen had been near death, so how could one possibly be so fickle with her life? The large man felt himself shake with anger, wanting nothing more than to slaughter them all. Sargon didn't want to stoop to their level, although would stop at nothing to return the favor and treat them as he, his brothers, and most of all his Queen had been treated.

The gaudy man who forced Sargon in the tent spoke to him in the language of this grotesque tribe. The second in command, as well as his brothers, were unsure why these men still tried to communicate with them. Speaking was a failed feat and only wasted time. The men behind him must've come to the conclusion he still didn't understand them as he was inhumanely forced forward next to Vellainya, who was now unconscious at his feet.

It was up to him, Sargon _had _to save them. His brothers couldn't die but most of all, neither could Vellainya; the fate of his people rested In his hands. He knew he had to act soon if he wanted to save her. Glancing down at her beaten body, his rage surfaced painfully.

Sargon hated these people, whoever they were and secretly sought to kill them all…every last one...Especially the tattooed man before him.

**A/N:** _AHHHHH! The lovely Sargon means to kill the even lovelier Ardeth T_T This is only Part 1 so don't hate me for ending it there… It couldn't be helped… You'll understand why when I publish Part 2 mwhahahaha! :D Ohhhh…and I have been listening to some intense opera lately (among some other interesting music) and I -think- it might be effecting my writing…hopefully not in a bad way. Any thoughts? _


	6. Ch 6 Ceremony Part 2

**AN:**I'm in the process of rewriting this story. That being said, during the rewrite _**the story won't change**_ much; but how I deliver the message will. So if you don't read the rewritten version, you won't be lost. My writing style is entirely different now and without a rewrite then continuing this story would be damn near impossible for me as an author. Hopefully this works for everyone.

_**IMPORTANT**_**: If there are any plot requests-or any requests at all-for the rewrite, do not****hesitate to tell me whether it be by message or review. I want you all to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.****  
><strong>**Hope to hear from you all soon,****  
><strong>**Adi**

"She's quite beautiful," Akhen noted, picking the Queen up by the hair and clinching her face in his massive fist. "Although she is a bit rattled from the journey to you, _my liege._" He said the phrase with such poignancy, it shook all who could hear his echoing voice.

Ardeth glared viciously at the man before him. Rattled? That was his way of describing her? Rattled would _maybe_ constitute feeling a bit dizzy after being in the sun for far too long; **rattled**was a terrible understatement for her condition. Indeed, her red, sun burnt skin told him she had been in the sun and was badly dehydrated. Her fluid, bloodshot eyes were eternally rolling to the back of her bashed skull. The Apeppan men were raised among the Medjai yet they treated this woman with such unheard of indecency.

The rest of the Queen's body was a completely different story altogether. A blind person would be able to see the _human_ bite marks which littered various portions of her small, half-naked figure. Other lacerations only deceitfully complimented remaining wounds, making their color all too bold for the unyielding eyes of the baffled audience. It made Ardeth sick, everything he thought happened to her was probably a grotesque reality she suffered.

Everyone within the tent had been joyful they didn't eat before the ceremony, for they would have surely vomited at such a show from Akhen. He molested the woman's chest in front of them, sizing up her breasts with great joy. Ardeth could see thick, red welts around the woman's upper body from where some constricting fabric had been before. He wasn't sure what made him more ill, the hand prints and bite marks or how he knew she was bound around her chest the night before, unable to cry out.

The Chieftain saw his mother tear her watering eyes away from the spectacle. _No one_ should be treated so acrimoniously. Had they no regard for human life as they dropped her before the table of the Bay family? Had they not tortured his family enough?

Ardeth fumed; it seemed the hatred of the men who murdered his father only then resurfaced after almost 20 years of dormancy. The woman's limp body sprawled out before them all, as if she was nothing but a piece of garbage. Slowly the woman's arm extended as she fell to the ground.

"Ardeth," Nazerah said breathlessly, clutching her son's arm quickly as she peered upon the woman's naked form. "It's-I can't believe-We must-!"

Ardeth was confused by his mother's wide-eyed expression. He was equally disgusted with Ghassan and Akhen, but what had gotten into her?

"Mother," Ardeth started cautiously, reaching for her. Nazerah Bay was calm, collected and none of her children had ever seen her act in any other way. The other heads of her children turned in her direction, baffled at her abiding emotions. "What's-?"

The matriarch shushed her son harshly, ripping her arm away from his grasp. The Medjai woman was hardly phased by Ardeth's look of terror when she so violently moved away from him in her seat. There was no time to explain, she needed to act if they were going to save her. Nazerah could only hope her son accepted the apology she'd give him later.

The mother's eyes were the size of saucers at the sight of the woman's arms. Immediately recognizing who exactly this _rattled_ Queen was, Nazerah didn't gasp, she was in too much shock to make any noise at all. Even with the myriad of bruises from the abuse the Queen suffered at the hands of Akhen and Ghassan, the dark brown markings on her limbs were unremarkably clear to Nazerah. This woman's henna tattoos were easily familiar to the aging mother…The Queen was of an ancient healer's tribe. Many of the remedies Nazerah used herself on her children had been learned from one of the tribal Elders. It was said this mystical people had died off when she was only but a girl. How could this be? This woman was said to be the Queen meaning there _had_ to be others aside from the four men who accompanied her.

Nazerah stood, unsure of what or who possessed her to do so. All eyes were on her now, she could feel their pressure. The mother glanced before the unconscious woman one last time before speaking without realizing her words.

"Bring the men forward," She commanded of Ghassan's servants in Arabic. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Tuvia give her a frantic, concerned look. Ardeth was no better, pulling on her tunic, much like he had done when he was a child. They begged her to sit down, utterly addled by her outburst; she was never one to go and speak before any crowd. Nazerah shook them off once more as the gigantic, imposing men were pushed before her.

Even scantily clothed and beaten beyond belief, they were still gorgeous; with their light olive skin, dark hair and clear, celestial eyes. Such coloring was unheard of to the Medjai, their color palate having two shades: dark and darker. Although these "gypsy" people were natives, they seemed to be so exotic; as if they were transported to Egypt from another land. Nazerah could realize why all of the myths about them seemed so whimsical; each one had a very mystical aura about them.

"Ni kalaxa Nazerah Bay," She begged her introduction was indeed the words she needed to use to state who she was. It'd been almost 50 years since she'd used the language and didn't want to accidently insult any of the towering men before her. They glanced briefly between one another before the largest of them spoke in a deep, clear voice.

"Na kalax Sargon Kxula, Beleti Bay," he bowed his head in respect, formally greeting her, assuming she had some sort of important title among her people. He didn't introduce his men…She need not know their names. Sargon's look of bewilderment was easily masked once more by suppressed hatred as he glared back into her dark eyes. How did she know their language? Nazerah flinched unwillingly under his gaze, and, had the circumstances been different, he might've apologized…his rage got the best of him.

"Why have you brought us here, _lady _Bay?" Lugal spat out, gritting his teeth. He mockingly used the orderly title Sargon had established for her. Sargon, now first in command until Vellainya came to her senses, shot his friend a look of disapproval. Lugal looked down, muttering his apologies to his superior.

"We did not beckon you to us," She began, pausing unexpectedly to try and configure the words of the foreign language in her mind. "My son is our _king_...Long ago, the men who took you were exiled…From our _clan_," Nazerah had to explain the story to them in terms they'd understand. The Medjai never had kings or queens although there was no word in the Sumer-Akkadian language for Chieftain.

"You have yet to explain why our presence is required," Dagan spoke out of term, much like Lugal had. Sargon dismissed the soldier's loose tongue, nodding for Nazerah to continue; although, his fury was biting at the edges of his psyche, knowing this tattooed man was indeed the leader, just as he suspected. "Or why our Queen had been treated so unjustly," Dagan finished menacingly glowering down at the motherly woman.

"The men who stole you thought…" Her incessant pausing tried Sargon's nerves, "They meant to bring you here as an offering of peace, for my son...because of their banishment. They believed…They knew of her beauty…Took her here." She added the last statement very quickly, the eyes of her audience making her quite queasy, "None of my people had anything to do with this. They are our enemies, even more so after these wrong doings. We do not wish to harm any of you, Sargon; most of all not your Queen." She bowed her head in sorrow.

"How can we trust your tribe when your men have shown our Queen nothing but pain?," None of the warriors were quite convinced of what she spoke of. If matters at been different, Vellainya would be their voice of reason…and, subconsciously, they all mourned for her.

Had they not clearly understood her words? The Apeppans were their enemies, not of the Medjai's tribe. Although, Nazerah thought not of that, she was all too amazed by this man's wording. _Shown our Queen nothing but pain_…It was as if they were disregarding the fact they were dreadfully injured as well. These men were valiant for dismissing their wounds, only focusing on their leader, but Nazerah couldn't believe it. Did all her people treat her as such or were these men close friends who kept her on a higher ground than themselves? It amazed her.

The man named Sargon broke her out of her thoughts.

"Nazerah Bay," He said in a low, rough voice, "We truly wish to believe your statements; however, the cruelty our Queen has faced will not be forgotten for many years to come. For the men have defiled her in such a way her rank will be questioned upon our return." _Their return_, he remained optimistic she was alive. "We plan to kill these men who have defiled her and, given your family," He briefly glanced down the long table, meeting everyone's astonished eyes, "Does not have anything to do with our capture, we shall allow you to live." He paused as Nazerah did many times in her explanation. Taking a large step forward, he leaned over to her ear. It seemed all movement stopped within the room, the brimming heat stifling everyone's breathing. What on earth was this man going to do?

"But," Nazerah let out a ragged breath as Sargon continued, his cruel tone in her ear, "I will not hesitate to slaughter you _**and**_your family if I find any untruth in your words in the days to come." The ferociousness of his statement sent a chill down her spine, although she knew the words she spoke to him only to be truth, "Nor will I lose sleep knowing your butchered, unwed daughters had never known the touch of a man or the fact your people should be in complete disarray given the death of your son by _my_ hand. So please, choose your next words _very_ carefully."

He straightened once more, his full height towering over her. Nazerah's eyes were tearful at Sargon's full proclamation, but she knew exactly how to ensure their safety. The loss of her husband had been a great one, and his absence still haunted her dreams but she couldn't possibly fathom losing her children as well. Granted, they were all in their 20's or 30's, but the matron would always view them as her babies. She'd stop at nothing to protect them, as she would do now.

"I swear to you, Sargon Kxula," She placed a trembling hand over her heart, then reached out and cupped his beaten face, "That it shall not come to such consequences but I implore you to seek your revenge on these men another day; they are our enemies as well." She could see the ravenous beast inside him was edging towards consciousness, forcing it's all apparent skills forward, begging to be used. "You are not well enough to fight-"

Something was shouted from behind the men and Sargon, as well as his comrades, were forced to their knees in front of the woman and her family. The pain of the blow was dull, practically masked by the shooting ache which already graced his torso. He let out a slow breath, keeping his emotions in check.

"Lady Bay," he lowered himself to one knee fully, leaving his bound hands on the table in front of them both. "Seek shelter." His voice was hardly above a whisper, though the authority was well heard.

Before Nazerah could question his meanings, his tied hands lurched forward, grasping onto the dinner knife adjacent to her full, untouched plate of food. With viper-like speed, the warrior spun to his feet, elbowing the small man behind him in the nose, which forced the facial bones deep into his brain, stopping all life. The Apeppan warrior fell to the ground, dead before he could even blink an eye.

Sargon turned, fully facing the onslaught, and buried the dinner knife in another man's eye, also killing him instantaneously. He was pleased to see his brothers already taking their own action without his orders; Dagan and Naram tending to Vellainya's wounds off to the side of the chaos while Lugal stood keeping watch over them, fending off anyone who came their way. Sargon put himself in the main line of fire.

Three men charged Sargon, swords raised high, preparing to slice their adversary into bits. Sargon noticed the scarred man stood behind the excess of warriors, barking out commands he couldn't decipher. His eyes narrowed, thinking about the man's cowardly ways…Hiding behind his soldiers once more but there wouldn't be time for hiding later on. No, revenge was scheduled on Sargon's calendar for today. Sweet, cold revenge.

With great swiftness, Sargon lifted his arms to the first assailant, the edge of the blade colliding with the inner most part of his wrists, as the tip caught his neck and shoulder. The warrior dismissed the pain of the newly formed lacerations as his bonds were inevitably cut, freeing his hands with ease…The Apeppans were in a world of hurt now.

Using the man's momentum against him, Sargon sidestepped quickly out of the next warrior's blade, thus pushing his first assailant into the table behind him, his body sprawled before the Medjai. Sargon grabbed the second attacker's forearms, throwing off the course of his sword. The sharp, double-sided piece of metal came close to cutting Nazerah down the chest, but, upon lower impact, buried itself in the soldier's head who lay lifeless across the table.

The attacker tried pathetically to pull the blade from the his fallen brother's skull cap, but it was too late; Sargon repositioned him quickly, pulling him forward against the long sword, the sharp metal slicing into the Apeppan man's torso. Both men bled out slowly, their life giving fluids almost staining the robes of the family who sat before them.

"What are _you_ doing?!" Sargon demanded of Nazerah, struggling with the man he had in a headlock, "GET. _OUT!_" She was in shock, unmoved and wide-eyed before him; much of her family with the same expressions, save her son and another, older warrior who sat on her other side.

When the brute stopped fighting against Sargon's hold, he was released briefly. The second in command regained his grip; his large hands, slippery with blood, anchoring themselves to the semi-conscious man's cranium. The sizeable assassin forcefully twisted his wrists off to one side; the sickening snap sounded, echoing through the tent, reverberating off the fabric and back to everyone's ears. _Bone chilling._

The warrior let go before the dead weight of the limp body could slow his moves. He brought his leg up, harshly kicking the body in its chest. The cumbrance of the person flitted forward, knocking into the men who charged at Sargon from the scarred warrior. He didn't care how many men he fought, he was going to kill that man…_Today_, he couldn't allow him to escape.

One man was able to avoid the attack, but Sargon anticipated his detour around the body. The warrior met him as the Apeppan strayed from the path of the body, Sargon's balled fist quickly meeting the man's neck twice. It wasn't enough force to collapse the soldier's windpipe, although he was stunned, gasping for breath.

Lugal approached from behind the attackers in an instant, slitting one man's throat and stabbing the other quickly with a sword he had picked off from one of the fallen men he'd slain. Lugal was next to the temporary King in an instant, handing him another sword he'd taken from a body. Sargon nodded his thanks, facing the two men who sought to attack them. The numbers of their oppressors were slim, now they had the chance to work together and vanquish the remaining vigilantes.

Both warriors parried the attacks effortlessly, the men they were fighting had been much less stronger than the novices the assassins trained. Sargon killed the man he was fighting quickly, stabbing him in the stomach after a few blocked attacks. However, Lugal felt himself toying with the last man, taking a little longer to kill him; cutting his arms, shallowly stabbing him, just enough to watch him bleed a little more than needed. In his young, blood thirsty state, he enjoyed making the man suffer.

"_**Kill**__ him_ and see to Vellainya!" Sargon shouted, fed up with how long it was taking Lugal to complete a simple task although pleased his brother was quick to react. A quick swipe to the neck had the man bleeding out and onto Lugal's bare feet in seconds. Dropping his sword, the young man retook his place next to his brothers who were tending to the Queen, trying to remove her from the tent with the help of the tattooed warriors.

Sargon focused his attention to the makeshift entrance where the frightened scarred warrior and the richly clothed man stood. It must've donned on them their deaths were near…Finally, his revenge could be achieved. He glared at them, stomping forward. Although, as if able to read his thoughts, they turned quickly to make their leave, calling out in their language to the warriors outside. At the last instant, the vibrantly clothed man pushed the other down, tripping him deliberately and frantically exited. The "leader" perched himself high on the awaiting horse and sped away before anyone could register the betrayal.

The man struggled to his feet, running to the exit. _NO!_ He had to suffer, Sargon couldn't allow them both to leave.

Sargon repositioned the blade in his hand, holding the hilt like a spear. With a loud roar, he lifted the weapon and simultaneously reared his body back. Like a slingshot, he launched himself, as well as the sword, forward thus forcing the piece of torpedo-like metal airborne. It cut through the thick air with ease, not faltering until it impacted with the back of Ghassan's left shoulder. _Perfect_, not a fatal wound.

The executioner marched forward to the trembling man. Sargon too shook, although his tremors were out of the disgust which swelled deep within his soul. The pathetic man called to Nazerah's people, most likely begging for help as he crawled backwards from the imposing warrior, blade deep in his flesh.

Sargon approached, kicking Ghassan to his stomach. His bare foot crushing into the man's wound as he ripped the sword through the top tendons of the grotesque man's shoulder, severing the bones. The screams were like music to his ears and a wave of ease flowed through his veins, only partially being satisfied with this man's pain. Gathering the sword, he snagged the man's hair in his balled up fist. More howls of agony sounded as Sargon dragged the man by his hair back to the center of the tent.

Ghassan had never been so humiliated in his life, bleeding out in front of the people he had unjustly grown to despise. Was this how all the women he'd defiled felt? He wanted to vomit, unsure of who he was more disgusted with: himself or Akhen for abandoning him, stealing his horse and commanding the men to leave with him. How long had the treason been planned? He'd never felt so low in all his existence. The large man handling him so maliciously forced him to the ground; the embarrassed slug-of-a-man's face splashed loudly in the pool of his fallen comrades blood.

Nazerah thought Sargon remained angry with her has he stormed over to where she persisted to linger, perched in her chair next to her sons. Ardeth and Tuvia clutched her hands tightly, she wouldn't allow them to interfere…The battle of Akhen and Ghassan were no longer their own, despite their own losses at the hands of the Apeppan leaders.

"Lady Bay," Sargon's voice shook with anger, "Do me the kindness of translating my words to this man." He picked up a second sword from a fallen solider, "I want him to understand my words fully as he is taken to the Underworld."

His fury came off him in powerful, resolute waves. Nazerah felt no fear of this fighter, for she wanted justice just as bad as him. The onslaught of the previous massacre hardly made her turn away…She'd never admit it, but she was overjoyed to see the Apeppans suffer at the hands of the seasoned warriors. The mother only hoped Anubis tortured them even more in the Afterlife.

"I will do my best," She declared with a nod, easing back into her chair.

Sargon took the second sword and threw it to Ghassan who was half way trying to fake his own death, no longer wanting the agonizing pain of fear within his soul. Sargon then took the tip of his own sword and guided the wounded man's head upwards, similar actions Akhen bestowed upon Ardeth not two days before. The pressure of the blade jolted Ghassan to his feet, leaving the sword in the pool of blood.

"_Get up!_" Nazerah shouted Sargon's translated words, "Fight as the _man_ you think yourself to be! Pick up your blade, _fool_."

The Bay "children" were shocked by their mother's outburst. She was kind, compassionate and not once had they ever heard her speak with such bitterness. Yet now, her hands clenched the armrests of her chair, her knuckles turning ghostly white. They had no idea that this was the day she'd been waiting for ever since the death of their father.

From a standing position, Ghassan stiffly bent his knees, leaving his back straight and fumbled for the bloody sword at his feet. The metal was so hard to grasp with his injured limb. He huffed wildly, glaring into Sargon's eyes. How dare this man humiliate him so.

He wasn't going to die like this; he _couldn't _die like this. Not by the hands of this man who didn't even have the ability to converse with the Gods of Old. With newfound strength and cobra-like speed, Ghassan's injured arm shot down, clinching the bloodied sword. He leaned back, out of the length of Sargon's sword. Bending his body in almost an impossible way, he brought his other hand forward, smacking Sargon to buy him some time. And buy time it did, although the man's head didn't turn against the hit. If one could even call it a hit…

It wasn't a manly, broad fisted punch to the face; it was a open-handed, almost limp-wristed, bash. The blow stung but Sargon hardly noticed the burn. He was _smacked. _How low it truly was to be smacked by another man...A woman? Okay, that was to be expected. Aside from Vellainya, women weren't taught the skills of fighting unless asked…but _a man smacking another man? _Unheard of.

"Enough," Sargon growled, sword drawn, "We shall finish this."

They circled one another, mirroring the others' movements. Both had been taught in the arts of offensive and defensive fighting. Although, any skilled warrior knew the fighter with the upper hand would strike second, not first; only anticipating their opponents' moves.

"I will _not_ have your body burned as the ways of old say," Sargon gave a frightening smile to Ghassan, provoking him. "I shall defile it as you have desecrated my Queen, separating your head from your torso so you shall wander the Afterlife aimlessly, unknowing of where you venture."

Sargon hoped that his words were properly translated by Nazerah although the snarl from Ghassan didn't disappoint him. His heart stopping smiled widened, the blood from his skull dripping down his statuesque features and upon his parted lips…It only added to his already intimidating features.

"I'll leave your body in the desert for the Anubis jackals to feast upon your barren flesh, thus ripping more of you to shreds."

Ghassan jutted forward, sloppily trying to stab at Sargon who easily parried his failed attack. The Apeppan tripped forward. Sargon only angered him more as he took the butt of his own sword and knocked him on the back of the head with it. Ghassan turned, rubbing his cranium. It blow wasn't enough to knock him out, but more than needed to annoy him greatly. He didn't enjoy being toyed with.

"I'll take you back to your people," Sargon continued, licking the blood from his mouth, "Your head in a bag and body tied behind my horse, dragging along in the sand. I shall parade around them, shouting of my victory."

The warrior felt sorry for scolding Lugal as he prolonged Ghassan's death; now he was better able to understand why the young warrior amused himself the last soldier's death…It was his way of taking his own revenge. Yet Sargon's banter and novice-like parries were exactly what his young accomplice had been partaking in not moments before. Sargon had to mentally and physically deteriorate this warrior's very being, only to satisfy his own furious, selfish needs.

Ghassan cut close to Sargon, their swords locked together above them in midair. His loss of blood caused his eyelids to betray him much as Akhen had; they drooped carelessly, not even half open. The warrior's injured arms were tired with exhaustion from his many failed jabs at the larger warrior. He couldn't run off of adrenaline anymore, he felt his end was near although he wouldn't leave until the man he was fighting was too as gravely injured as he. Ghassan had to leave this world with the bliss of knowing his murderer would die by his hand as well.

The opponents tried to predict the other's attack, though their minds were in the same tactical place. As their swords twirled downward from their clenched place in midair, each man drew their blade back, stabbing each other in the stomach. Ghassan's face twisted in fiendish agony while Sargon smiled, pleased at the scene. Grabbing the hilt of Ghassan's sword, Sargon pulled himself forward to his smaller adversary.

"I am a man of my word," Sargon whispered venomously. In an instant, his own sword was out of the belly of Ghassan. He twisted his blade up, slicing into the Apeppan man's neck. Ghassan's look of terror was frozen in time; eyes wide, mouth ajar. It seemed like an eternity before the head finally became a prisoner of gravity and fell with the rest of the body. The skull rolled off to the side, covering itself in the blood of its former master. The body fell back, which was Sargon's undoing…

The body of Ghassan remained its firm grasp on the sword which was embedded in the Sargon's lower torso. As the dead weight of the body fell, the sharp weaponry sliced up and out of Sargon's stomach. The silence was pierced with his loud war cry. The remaining Medjai in the audience were unsure whether his yell was out of pain or victory, but the effect of said noise would be engraved in their minds forever...Even in near, and almost impending death, he'd won the battle and avenged his Queen.

**A/N: **_Woo! I had a hard time writing that, as some of you know. Hopefully everyone enjoyed it. Feedback is much appreciated._


	7. Ch 7 Unconscious Kisses

**Recap: (Look at the important note at the end of the chapter) **Shit went down during the super dodgy peace ceremony held between the Medjai/Apeppan camps. The Akkads are beaten up pretty badly by the Apeppans who fled when all Hell broke loose. There was a boss battle between Ghassan/Sargon during which Sargon killed Ghassan but sustained horrid injuries. He may or may not be dead. All the while, the Queen is unconscious and fighting for her life. Enjoy.

The joy Nazerah felt as she watched the many men die by the hand of Sargon was immediately halted when the victor fell to his knees, clutching his stab wound. His large hands were brought forward, drenched in his own blood, thus verifying his injury. Nazerah was at his side in an instant, tears brimming her chocolate eyes painfully. She tore off a part of her tunic, pressing it into his side swiftly. They had to stop his bleeding before saving him was a lost cause.

"You're at the wrong body, go to the Qu-" He was interrupted by the thunderous sound of his own coughs. The clenching of his abdominal muscles only forced more blood to surface. Nazerah reacted quickly, pushing the cloth harder inside him.

"Do not speak," her voice was harsh, which was such a foreign feeling for herself. "And do _not_ call yourself a body. You are alive, albeit not well, but you _are_ alive."

He shook his head, an agonizing grin playing at his lips. She caught the look though, he thought himself ready to pass on to the next world…something she couldn't allow.

"I'm in debt to you, Sargon Kxula, so if you already think yourself to be dead, think again. Watching you pass is not something I'll allow my eyes to _ever_ witness." It was funny to her, how when she was frustrated the words of the ancient language seemed to flow from her mouth effortlessly. The authority in her voice seemed so natural, yet so misplaced at the same time. The depression she felt for the past two, long decades was subsiding; this warriors' lively spirit engulfing her own and bringing her true self back. Mystical, indeed; she pondered adoringly.

Nazerah called her Shira and Mayah forward to help assess his bleeding. The flow of his blood was indeed subsiding though not quick enough. The mother instructed her oldest and youngest daughter to hold fast to his side. She felt pride when Mayah didn't turn away from the challenge, her hands being the first set to get soiled. Maybe she was finally growing.

Nazerah busied herself with finding a suitable dagger for her future task. It had to be the perfect size or the blade would only open the wound further, killing the healthy skin around the wound leaving a portal of infection in its midst. She was being so unlike herself, knocking over items, carelessly looting the dead bodies just to find something that would work. Her time was running short though, Sargon's shallow breathing seemed all she could hear even with the immense noise of people yelling. At what? She was unsure of, not wanting to think more on it, she turned back to the body she was stealing from.

Ardeth brought her back to levelheadedness when he offered his own blade. He understood what she was trying to achieve when he saw her quickly discard the knives that previously graced her hands. Cauterization was a method which was messy, though effective in the field. She nodded her thanks, rushing over to the small fire, knocking the pot off the spit to gain full access to the flame. The man she was trying to save would survive. The determination in his mother's look told him as much; it was a look all the Bay children possessed making it easily recognizable…though Ardeth always assumed they inherited it from their father.

Not moments later, he found himself outside the huddle around the Queen. The language barrier between the Medjai and the Queen's guard was unmanageable; they were shouting at one another in their native tongue, not accomplishing a thing. Her men were too injured to move her alone, but each time one of the Medjai stepped in to help, the foreign warriors acted as though they were going to fight to the death to keep someone else from touching their Queen. Maybe they were all delirious; she wasn't the only one badly injured, though she took the worst of the damage it seemed.

Ardeth elbowed through his men, finding the Queen in even worse condition than before. Though her eyes were open and glassy, she was not awake, nor was she sleeping; it was as if she was looking through all of them to someone or something else. Ardeth almost glanced over his shoulder to see if something was there. _Almost._

Though sunburnt almost to the point of having blisters, her face was pale…So very pale. The severity of her sunburns was great, yet the men were too busy arguing to have enough sense to remove her from the light. Ardeth angrily called for them to stop their argument and was surprised when both sides complied. The stockiest of the men, who was blocking the Medjai from her, moved aside when Ardeth neared. The Chieftain knelt beside her, covering her shivering body with the sizeable ceremonial robe. Though she was not large by any means, his ribs screamed in protest as he lifted her aware but unaware body into his arms. She relished the feeling of his warmth, curling into a tight ball against his chest, cold forehead pressed under his chin.

"Sargon," her arms snaked their way around his neck, pulling herself closer, "Ni kalaxa hal-ba…mala, mala hal-ba."

At that moment, he wished he knew their language… Not necessarily to understand what she was saying, but to converse with her enough so she thought she remained with the man he assumed to be her husband…Sargon; the warrior his mother was tending to. He felt guilty handling this man's wife in such an intimate way, while she believed she was in the arms of her lover.

Shaking off his previous thoughts, he set her down on the palate in the temporary healer's tent which was actually soldier's quarters. They weren't at their normal home, the caravan of Medjai being in the middle of their own expedition, so the tent would have to make due for now. Eventually, they'd all have to go to the temple for proper healing, but that was a long, long journey that he knew they weren't ready to make.

"Send word to whichever of my family is available that I'll need assistance." Ardeth spoke quickly, as the men from the huddle who had trailed after him entered the tent and were now hastily on his heels. He knew Shira and Mayah were assisting his mother but that meant five of his other siblings were missing-in-action, though he knew they weren't in danger since the Apeppans left. _Cowards. _

The men of her guard came forward and stood on the other side of the elevated palate, looking to him for guidance. They didn't trust him, he could tell; as they most likely had mistaken him for Apeppan since he had yet to reveal his face. All of the Medjai and the Apeppans probably looked the same to the foreign gentlemen. They donned the same kind of clothing but, whereas the Medjai had tattoos, the Apeppans had treacherous scars.

He didn't turn his attention to them yet; he needed to stay focused and work instantly before the worst of the shock and dehydration set in. Ardeth sighed as he placed another blanket over her shivering body. She was mumbling incorrigibly and the Chieftain thought not even her own men understood her words. The youngest of the men, the one he saw fighting alongside her husband not moments before, was trying to speak to her. The others around her shook their heads; nothing was working and she wouldn't calm down. The more the young warrior spoke to her, the more anxious she became which is not what they needed.

Ardeth took the fighter's hands and put them on her shoulders firmly. He lifted his own hands from the warrior's, keeping his palms flat as if to imitate stopping or being still. The man nodded his understanding, holding her shaking body stationary as best he could. Next he motioned for the remaining two men to do the same, holding down her hips and then finally her ankles, though her legs were lifted slightly to help circulate the blood back to her heart and brain.

Her pulse was next. The skin of her neck was clammy and cold though she was sweating as if she was never taken away from the sun. The beat of the blood within her veins was rapid, as if it couldn't get to its destination fast enough…but it was shallow, and hard to find. Her breathing matched that of her pulse, being shallow but rapid itself. None of these were good signs; the level of shock was intensifying.

He busied himself with the feat of her comfort as he placed cushions under her arms and legs for support. Her broken limbs relaxed into the fabric, but the rise and fall of her chest only accelerated. He fleetly rolled a piece of fabric, placing it under her neck to help better her airflow, which seemed to work for a few seconds.

As time went on, her breathing became more struggled as she seemed she only had the capability to inhale in short, fast breaths. Her exhales became labored wheezes as her lips changed from their natural pink, to pale and then finally to a deep blue, almost purple. Ardeth was quick to react, using his fingertips to find her sternum through the thick coverings. He applied pressure fast, which turned into level compressions. Upon the clenching of his muscles pressing down into her chest, his ribs shot pain through his bones once more. Ardeth gritted his teeth and fought through the darting agony.

Removing his hands from her chest promptly, he tilted her head back. His left hand cupped her tender neck while his right stayed at her jaw, keeping the airway open. The guilty feeling only then resurfaced once he was about to press his lips to her own, even if there was the cloth of his balaclava between them. He told himself he didn't lust for her, but knowing she was wed to another man didn't sit well with him as he breathed air into her lungs. The contrition didn't stop when the man who was supposed to be holding her shoulders, took it upon himself to start his own form of compressions. With someone else applying pressure, Ardeth really had no reason to stop breathing for her; so he remained, his mouth claiming her own as he gave life back into her lungs.

Each deep inhale through his nose made his chest clench tighter and tighter together. His exhales became just as strained as the fabric between their mouths was blocking too much air for them both to adequately breath. After a few more struggled breaths, he raised himself up, coughing harshly from the lack of air. He allowed his outer robe to easily fall to the ground, his hood and balaclava with it. If he was going to save her, he needed to do it correctly.

Her lips were warmer this round, though still the odd shade of indigo. He breathed harder for her, willing her to live as the young man did his intermediate compressions. Ardeth felt for her almost nonexistent pulse. It was slow, hardly dragging on enough to even be worthy of calling her alive. It was tense as it seemed all their hard work had gone to waste. She was slipping from them and there wasn't a thing they could do; she had to possess the need to live.

Her pulse skipped a few beats and Ardeth was about to have them cease their attempts… But, as he was about to stop, he felt her slightly struggle under the excess weight of their hands. She moved faintly as if a jolt of lightning was going through her spine, twisting in small movements. He gave her shoulder an unconscious squeeze, reassuring them both it was going to be okay.

He could feel her trying to cough though her breathing wasn't her own at the moment. Ardeth had to give her lungs a chance to work by themselves, but couldn't pull himself away from her. There was a magnetism that kept him bent down, breathing for her. He was fearful that, given he should back off, her breathing would conclude altogether; something he couldn't allow.

He exhaled into her at which she finally complied with her own, deep inhale. He held his hand up to the man, in order to stop the compressions. Should he continue with such force, she could be severely injured in the process. Ardeth assisted her a little while longer, noticing how it was easier on his lungs since they were both doing an equal amount of work.

"Finally," he whispered against her mouth, their lips brushing each other. The transgressions he felt before about being lip-locked to her had died down. He almost felt prideful when he heard her breathe on her own as he pulled away.

Though shock victims weren't supposed to consume fluids, for fear of vomiting, her case was different; most shock victims weren't left out in the sun for hours on end. Ardeth brought a basin of water forward, placing it next to her. Though he didn't have time to get a cup, he took a cloth and began wringing the water into her mouth. She gasped almost instantly as the water graced her lips, which had gone back to their natural color. Her hand shot up and grabbed onto the stocky man's arm for support, taking in more gasps of air. Just like her husband, she'd live; the worst was over…or so he thought.

"Forgive my absence," Tuvia was by Ardeth's side expeditiously, "We drove the Apeppans away from the camp. Eitan and his warriors just arrived as well; he's with Elias and the other men, setting up a proper watch around the encampment. I sent Laila and Taleah with some men to set up a larger healing area," He paused taking in the injured, adrenaline stricken men as well as the Queen, then added, "I figured we'd need it."

Despite the current gloominess of the situation, Ardeth smiled. It amazed him how he and his brother seemed to be so synchronized at times. He wondered if it was because Tuvia had been Chieftain before Ardeth ever was. However, it was good to know their other brother, Eitan, commander of the southwestern tribe, had arrived safely. The whole trip Ardeth and his family had been on was to visit Eitan and his family…But, when they got word of Akhen's ambush, things had changed. They made camp quickly as Ardeth and Elias went to investigate, only of course confirming the rumors. Though it did put him at ease knowing his family was finally together, even if the circumstances weren't exactly the greatest.

"I saw her trying to walk before the ceremony," Tuvia continued, "We're going to have to reset her legs."

The eldest knew the commotion outside the "ceremonial" tent before the events began were unjust. When he went to delve into the source of the noise, he witnessed how Ghassan was forcing her to walk. Her legs were flimsy beneath her, unable to bear the weight of her. She fell numerous times as they laughed, it was infuriating though he knew he couldn't become involved.

Tuvia pulled back the robe and cover, revealing her black and blue limbs.

Ardeth handed the wet cloth to the young man at her shoulders when he heard his brother's statement. The young warrior got the hint and slowly began giving her water and patting her face with the cloth. Her breathing was back to normal, and her hand had since eased down from the man's arm; she was only barely conscious, just focusing on drinking. Ardeth took in a sharp breath when he witnessed what his brother had. Her feet and legs were contrived in such a way, they knew exactly what kind of torture method Ghassan and Akhen used to pop the joints out of place. Before any real work could be done, they'd have to concoct some pain reliever of momentous capabilities.

Ardeth let out a sigh; he then knew it was going to be a long night for them all.

Sargon gritted his teeth, glaring down at the stab wound in his lower abdomen. It'd been three days since his fight with Ghassan but his mental curses of the man hadn't ceased since the pain had finally set in. His through-and-through wound was heeling nicely, thanks to the cauterization method Nazerah used. It was quick, very painful but also extraordinarily effective but the pain had ceased to die…though, against Nazerah's wishes, Sargon was up and moving later the very day he awoke. Since then, he was not allowed to leave the protection of the tent. He huffed in annoyance as he remembered how the woman about had a conniption when he stood to relief himself!

The second in command looked around warily, trying to spot the elder woman. It was towards the afternoon and he knew she'd be out in the camp, speaking with her children. Realizing he was alone, save for his resting brethren and sister, he carefully bent his arms back, preparing to push himself off the palate.

"Lie back down or I'll stab you myself!" She hissed, glaring at him in a very displeased way. The warrior threw his arms up in the air in frustration, as his gesticulations didn't go unnoticed. Sargon barred his teeth when the pain from falling backwards so harshly sprang through his abdomen.

"Nazerah, I'm _fine_," He mentioned curtly, glowering at her out of the corner of his eye. Of course she would walk in the second he was about to make a break for it. As of late, that was just his luck too. Sargon crossed his broad arms over his chest in a very child-like manner and looked to the opposite side of the tent. After all, he did feel rather childish…having assistance to stand, eat, drink, walk. It was maddening! The other men were allowed to leave the tent, why couldn't he? What had he done?

"If bleeding to death constitutes fine, I'd hate to see you on a bad day!" She huffed, roughly ripping the linen from his wound to change the bandage. Sargon flinched, wishing he'd taken back his statement…That's what he had done: allowed himself to get stabbed. With each cleansing movement, a shooting pain went from his stomach to his chest. After a few moments of bearish care, Nazerah sighed; she shouldn't take her frustrations out on him.

"I'm sorry," She mentioned, taking Sargon off-guard, "It's just my sons… They are the same way when it comes to injuries. You men are so very stubborn but I foresee all of you getting along very well…Gods, help me."

Sargon laughed loudly at Nazerah's last statement, waking Naram and Dagan in the process. They grumbled and cursed before setting up, though their eyes remained closed. Dagan shivered, pulling the covers up over his lacerated chest. Naram shot his superior an angry look before burying his bruised skull further into the cushion. The second in command rolled his eyes, muttering to the men they had slept too long anyways. Dagan obviously objected as he began snoring. Naram's glare didn't stop, he was thinking of ways to seek playful revenge on his friend for awaking him so abruptly.

"My home away from home will be with the Medjai then," Sargon chuckled, though he didn't take his own words seriously, Nazerah did. She hastily agreed with his proclamation, reassuring him that if they needed anything in the years to come after their parting, he should _immediately_ contact them. Sargon gave her a bewildered look, only nodding his head.

"I cannot wait to meet more of your people," Nazerah mused, finishing up with the bandage. She lightly leaned back, sitting on the cushion next to him. "As I told you, I only heard tales of your people as a child. I never thought you actually remained in existence."

Sargon noted the ethereal look in her eye, a bright sparkle as he knew her mind was elsewhere, dwelling on the stories she heard as a young girl. He allowed the woman her moment of remembrance while he was fascinated by her interest in their people. As for his people, none of them heard of the Medjai but both cultures seemed rather secluded so no one knew of the secrets they held.

**AN: **I'm in the process of rewriting this story. This "chapter" was actually written two years ago but I never had the chance to upload it. That being said, during the rewrite **_the story won't change_** much; but how I deliver the message will. So if you don't read the rewritten version, you won't be lost. My writing style is entirely different now and without a rewrite then continuing this story would be damn near impossible for me as an author. Hopefully this works for everyone.

**_IMPORTANT_****: If there are any plot requests-or any requests at all-for the rewrite, do not ****hesitate****to tell me whether it be by message or review. I want you all to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.  
>Hope to hear from you all soon,<br>Adi**


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